The Road to Hell (is Paved with Good Intentions)
by The Queen of Thornes
Summary: Tony Stark; genius, billionaire, philanthropist. Tony, because Howard wanted a son, Natasha, because Maria birthed a daughter instead. [Earth 3490/Time Travel AU]
1. I - Revelation

**AN:** Any recognisable dialogue belongs exclusively to the Marvel Studios and Walt Disney Studios; Marvel Cinematic Universe

* * *

 **The Road to Hell (is Paved with Good Intentions)**

Tony Stark; genius, billionaire, philanthropist. Tony, because Howard wanted a son, Natasha, because Maria birthed a daughter instead.

* * *

 **Chapter I –** _Revelation_

* * *

" _I am Iron Woman."_

She wonders what possessed her; what was it that caused those four damning words to slip from her mouth before she'd even contemplated the consequences, before she'd truly allowed herself to react and reacclimatise to her new reality. It wasn't arrogance or pride that caused her to discard the cue-cards written to provide her with a reasonable explanation; it was _defiance_ , an abject refusal to be seen as less than the _man in the suit_ , an abject refusal to be seen as a _damsel,_ an abject refusal to remain in the shadows and never be able to step into the light. It was _desire_ … the untameable, irrefutable _need_ to be recognised as something better than she was.

Something better than the careless weapon manufacturer that was so uninvolved with her own company that she allowed a man hungry for power to deal on both sides of the table. Something better than the daughter Howard Stark didn't want, something better than the wayward teen who graduated M.I.T at seventeen to spite her Father, rather than out of any real love for the technology she was creating. Something better, than the headlines that told of an alcoholic _party-girl_ who opened her legs at any opportunity, something _better_ than the helpless woman trapped in a cave in Afghanistan with only a car battery keeping her heart beating.

Tony wanted, _needed_ to be the hero of her own story… and now she can't even save herself.

The lab is dim when she enters, powered down whilst she was opening the Stark Expo; it's good to be home, she muses idly, sitting comfortably behind her expansive desk and clapping briskly. "Wake up, Mama's home."

"Welcome home, Ma'am. Congratulations on the opening ceremonies. They were such a success, as was your Senate hearing. And may I say how refreshing it is to finally see you in a video with your clothing on, Ma'am."

Tony smiles wryly and raises her glass to ceiling. "Yes, thank you J.A.R.V.I.S, now tell me, exactly how much of this muck am I supposed to drink?"

"We are up to eighty ounces a day to counteract your symptoms Ma'am."

Tony frowns; that was seventeen ounces more than yesterday. "Check Palladium levels."

"Blood toxicity, twenty-four percent. It appears that the continued use of the Iron Woman suit is accelerating your condition. Another core has been depleted."

She pulls the collar of her singlet down, and lifts the Arc Reactor nimbly from her chest, the Palladium core smoking dangerously. "God, they're running out quick." She murmurs, retrieving the cigar box filled with spare cores. The inky black lines spreading outwards from her chest seem somehow worse without the Arc Reactor locked into place.

"I have run simulations on every known element, and none can serve as a viable replacement for the Palladium core." Tony inputs the new core as J.A.R.V.I.S continues to speak. "You are running out of both time and options. Unfortunately, the device that's keeping you alive is also killing you."

Tony tugs her singlet back up, hiding both the Arc Reactor and the black lines spreading further and further across her chest. She knows she's dying, she knows the Palladium core is turning her blood to poison in her veins, but she can't, _won't_ give up the suit, not for the senators who want to profit off it, not to the military who want to weaponise it against their enemies, not to Nick Fury and his _Avengers Initiative._

"J.A.R.V.I.S-"

"Miss Potts is approaching, I recommend you inform-"

Tony glances over her shoulder and sure enough she spies Pepper through the glass; she looks furious, and Tony rubs the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Mute." She downs her cup, and spins in her chair. "Hey Pepper! How nice to see you in my Lab'."

"Don't you 'hey Pepper' me Natasha! What are you thinking!"

Standing up, Tony smiles. "I think I'm busy and you're angry about something." Pepper sniffs and she backs away. "Do you have the sniffles? I don't want to get sick!"

"Why, did a delivery truck turn up on my doorstep this morning containing our entire modern art collection?"

Tony notes the 'our' with a smile, it took her a lot of years to get Pepper so comfortable with claiming ownership of things she helped cultivate. "It was a tax write off, I needed that."

Tony catches Pepper's exasperated expression in the reflection of her hot-rod. "You know, there's only about eight thousand and eleven things that I really need to talk to you about."

She rolls her eyes at Dum-E as she passes. "Dum-E. Hey, stop spacing out. The Bridgeport's already machining that part."

"The Expo is a gigantic waste of time."

"I need you to wear a surgical mask until you're feeling better." Tony decides, turning around to face Pepper. "Is that okay?"

"That's rude."

Tony rolls her eyes again. "No, that's smart, I have no desire to get sick. Besides, there's nothing more important to me than the Expo. It's my primary point of concern. I don't know why you're-"

"The Expo is your ego gone crazy."

" _That's_ rude." Tony frowns.

"Stark is in complete disarray. You understand that?" Pepper growls.

"No." She shakes her head. "Our stocks have never been higher!"

Pepper agrees. "Yes, from a managerial standpoint. Let me give you an example."

"Let's move onto another subject!"

Pepper disagrees, and Tony fights the urge to put Pepper on mute in the same way she did with J.A.R.V.I.S… if only Pepper was an A.I. "We have already awarded contracts to the wind farm people."

"Yeah. Don't say "wind farm." I'm already feeling gassy." She jokes.

"And to the plastic plantation tree, which was your idea by the way. Those people are on payroll…"

"Everything was my idea." Tony murmurs even as Pepper continues.

"…and you won't make a decision.

"I don't care about the liberal agenda any more. It's boring. Boring! I'm giving you a boring alert." She singsongs. "You do it."

Pepper raises a single perfectly manicured eyebrow. "I do what?"

Tony grins. "Excellent idea!" She grips Pepper's shoulders tightly. "I just figured this out, you ready? You run the company."

"Yeah," Pepper returns, "I'm trying to run the company."

"Pepper, I need you to run the company. Stop trying to do it and _do it_."

"You will not give me the information…"

"I'm not asking you to try…"

"…in order to…"

"…I'm asking you to physically do it. I need you to do it."

"I am trying to do it!"

"Pepper, you're not listening to me!" Tony shouts.

"No, you're not listening to me!"

Exasperated, Tony throws up her hands. "I'm trying to make you C.E.O! Why won't you let me?"

Pepper stares at her blankly. "Have you been drinking?"

"Chlorophyll." She deadpans. "I hereby irrevocably appoint you Chairwoman and C.E.O of Stark Industries effective immediately. Yeah, done deal. Okay?" Pepper opens her mouth, but no words come out. Tony smiles kindly, even as U appears at her shoulder, a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes balancing precariously atop a sliver tray. "I've actually given this a fair amount of thought, believe it or not." Tony continues, quickly relieving U of the incredibly _breakable_ items."Doing a bit of headhunting, so to speak, trying to figure out who a worthy successor would be. And then I realised it's you. It's _always_ been you." She pours the champagne, awkwardly cradling the glasses and the bottle when she realises Pepper's knees are shaking. Tony helps her into a seat and sits across from her. "I thought there'd be a legal issue, but actually I'm capable of appointing my successor. My successor being you." Tony smiles, offering the glass. Pepper doesn't take it however, and Tony wonders whether she's capable of moving at all, shocked as the red-head is. "Congratulations? Take it, just take it."

Finally, Pepper speaks. "I don't know what to think." She murmurs.

Tony grins, and pushes the glass into her open hand. "Don't think Pep, drink." Pepper almost drains the glass. "There you go."

"Why?" Pepper asks, tapping her empty glass against Tony's.

She sips her drink and tries not to think about the poison in her veins or the barely hidden black veins criss-crossing her chest. "I never wanted to run Dad's company, hell Pep, you've been running it for me for _years_ , why not make it official?"

Pepper smiles and shakes her glass. "Well, if we're celebrating, fill me up. That bottle is worth fifteen hundred dollars, we're not wasting a drop."

Tony laughs and does as she's told.

* * *

" _Iron Woman. That's kind of catchy. It's got a nice ring to it. I mean it's not technically accurate. The suit's a gold titanium alloy, but it's kind of provocative, the imagery anyway."_

* * *

She's in the ring with Happy when Pepper interrupts her next.

"The notary's here! Can you please come sign the transfer paperwork?"

Tony almost groans. "I'm on Happy time." She complains, and twists, raising her arm and hitting Happy sharply in the face with her elbow.

"What the hell was that?" Happy growls, rubbing his nose with his gloved hand.

She bounces on the balls of her feet. "It's called mixed martial arts. It's been around for… uh, three weeks?"

Happy shakes his head. "It's called dirty boxing, there's nothing new about it."

"All right, put them up. Come on." Happy's attention shifts, and Tony nails him solidly in the centre of the padding protecting his kidney. He groans, clutching his side. Tony rolls her eyes at his dramatics and turns to Pepper.

The red-head smiles. **"** I promise this is the only time I will ask you to sign over your company."

"I need you to initial each box." Tony's attention turns to the third woman in the room; another red-head, she notes with amusement.

Happy regains her full attention when he taps her on the back of thehead. "Lesson one." He smirks. "Never take your eye off-" Tony turns, and kicks him roughly in the chest, sending him flying backwards into the corner of the ring.

"That's it." She shakes her head. "I'm done. What's your name?"

"Rushman." The woman looks at her oddly, as though Tony is familiar and she can't quite place where she knows her from. "Natalie Rushman."

"Front and centre." Tony demands. "Come into the church."

"No. You're seriously not gonna ask-"

Tony grins. "If it pleases the court, which it does."

Rushman doesn't baulk at the challenge and Tony is grudgingly impressed. "It's no problem."

Pepper shakes her head, embarrassed."I'm sorry. She's very eccentric."

She watches Rushman as she climbs into the ring. The woman oozes sexuality; it's not overt, it's not subtle, it's simply _there_ , another facet of her personality and Tony isn't sure what to make of her.

She turns to Happy. "Can you give her a lesson?

"No problem."

Tony climbs out of the ring easily and takes a seat beside the impatient Pepper. "Pep,who is she?"

"She is from legal. And she is potentially a very expensive sexual harassment lawsuit if Happy keeps ogling her like that."

Tony nods absently, watching the two people in the ring carefully. "I need a new assistant, boss."

Pepper nods, now perusing the pile of paperwork. "Yes, and I've got three excellent potential candidates. They're lined up and ready to meet you."

"I don't have time to meet. I need someone now." It's a bold-faced lie; she has no want, nor need for an assistant, not with Pepper taking over as C.E.O, but she wants this woman close, out of the company and at her side, where she can keep an eye on her. "I feel like it's her."

"No, it's not." Pepper shakes her head.

Tony leans toward the table, a modified glass touch-screen, and calls out to Rushman. "How do I spell your name, Natalie?"

"R-U-S-H-M-A-N."

"What," Pepper scoffs, "are you gonna Google her now?"

"Don't be ridiculous." She murmurs, typing quickly on the screen. "You won't believe the kind of dirt the N.S.A has – not as comprehensive as S.H.I.E.L.D's database I'm sure but I haven't cracked that yet." Pepper makes an unimpressed noise in the back of her throat and Tony fights a laugh."Wow. Very, very impressive individual."

"Did you do this with me too?" Pepper asks, now curious.

Tony smirks. "Of course I did Pep, I've done this with everyone I've ever met… It was harder with Rhodey, so much _paper_." Pepper rolls her eyes, and Tony offers her a grin. "She's fluent in French, Italian, Russian, Latin. Who speaks Latin?"

"No one speaks Latin."

"No one speaks Latin?"

"It's a dead language. You can read Latin, or you can write Latin, but you can't speak Latin."

"Did you model in Tokyo? 'Cause she modelled in Tokyo."

"Well…"

Tony gapes, " _Virginia Potts,_ have you been holding out on me?"

Pepper offers her an incredibly smug smile.

"I need her. She's got everything that I need." Tony decides. Pepper hates the idea, that much is clear, there is no doubt in her mind that the three candidates Pepper has lined up have vastly more experience than _Natalie_ , but there's just… _something_ about the woman that makes her gut scream. A loud crash draws their attention back to the ring, and Tony withholds a laugh at Happy's affronted expression as he picks himself up of the springy floor.

"Oh, my God! Happy!" Pepper exclaims, on her feet and moving toward the ring.

Tony grins widely. "That's what I'm talking about."

"I just slipped." Happy assures with a pained wheeze.

"You did?"

"Yeah." He nods, though from his expression, Happy can tell he's fooling no one.

"Looks like a T.K.O to me." Tony smirks, ringing the bell at the edge of the ring as Natalie exits with ease.

"I need your impression." Natalie asks, offering the fingerprint pad.

She nods and wets her thumb with the ink. "Well, now that's done, Natalie, congratulations are in order."

Natalie nods and offers Pepper a smile. Tony dislikes it immediately, the smile is too secretive, too like her Father's when he spoke about the Second World War, too like Nick Fury's when he spoke of the _team_ he was putting together. "Congratulations Miss Potts."

Tony shakes her head. "Oh no, Miss Rushman, I meant you."

"Tony, no." Pepper groans.

"Tony yes." Tony mocks with a remorseless smile. "Congratulations Miss Rushman, you just got promoted, you're my new personal assistant."

Natalie gapes, and the cynical part of Tony that's all Howard Stark, thinks perhaps Rushman hadn't thought it would be this easy to infiltrate Stark Industries. She's in for a rude shock. "Uh, thank you Miss Stark."

"You start now." Tony states, and heads for the door. Natalie doesn't follow. "With me, Rushman, we have things to discuss; first, my Birthday, second, Monaco. Scratch that, reverse the order, Monaco first, Birthday second."

* * *

" _I do anything and everything Miss Stark requires. Including occasionally taking out the trash. Will that be all?"_

* * *

"Happy have you got the case?" Tony asks as they enter; the room is crowded, round tables surrounding a fully stocked bar, overlooking the pristine streets turned Grand Prix track.

"Have I got the case?" Happy scoffs, even as he double checks for the shining ruby case in his hand. "Of course I've got the case."

"Pep, you all good?" She asks over her shoulder.

Pepper straightens her back; it's a miniscule movement that causes a rush of pride in Tony. _Never give them an inch Pep_. "Good is relative." Pepper answers, a smile plastered on her lips.

Natalie meets them halfway across the room, the pink dress she wears is only _just_ professional, the neckline just a little too low and the fabric just a little too tight; Tony thinks it's like looking into a mirror… if only her hair were red, she muses.

"Miss Stark."

Tony nods, and Natalie falls into step beside her. "Hello."

"How was your flight?"

"It was excellent. Please make sure the bar is restocked before we take off." Tony requests, and smiles prettily at the waiter offering her a glass of scotch. She sips it, the familiar burn more comforting than it should be.

Natalie nods. "We have one photographer from the ACM, if you don't mind." Tony sighs, but gestures yes. "Okay?"

Her glass is removed from her hand and she feels Pepper tense at her side. "Smile. Look, right there. Relax. Don't flare your nostrils."

"This is the part of the job I had forgotten about." Pepper murmurs after the photographer has gotten his shot and moved away.

"Right this way." Natalie directs, and returns their drinks.

"Chanel?" Tony asks curiously, eying the coral dress.

"Roland Mouret." Natalie answers, and Tony raises an eyebrow.

"Interesting." She replies; expensive, but likely not out of budget for an ex-model turned executive assistant. "What's on the docket?"

"You have a nine-thirty dinner."

"Perfect. I'll be there at eleven."

To her credit, Natalie takes it in stride. "Absolutely."

Tony stops at a table in the corner, the neighbouring windows floor to ceiling, with a perfect view of the track. "Is this us?

"It can be."

"Great." She grins. "Make it us."

Natalie nods, and grudgingly, Tony's impressed by her gumption. "Okay."

Pepper taps her lightly on the shoulder as she passes, a perfect smile on her lips as she greets the seated investor. "Mr Musk. How are you?"

Elon stands, an easy grin on his lips. "Hi, Pepper. Congratulations on the promotion."

"Thank you very much." Pepper replies happily.

Tony appears at her shoulder and shakes the man's hand. "Elon, how's it going. Those Merlin engines are fantastic."

"Thank you." Elon says, and lets her hand go. "Yeah, I've got an idea for an electric jet."

"You do?"

"Yeah."

"Then we'll make it work." She decides, and Elon nods gratefully, returning to his seat. Pepper rolls her shoulders as they continue through the throng of A-List guests. "Relax Pep, you're doing great."

"Natasha, you've been schmoozing since before you could walk, this is all new to me." Pepper groans but makes an effort to relax nonetheless.

"Firstly, I've been behaving myself so no need to Natasha me, _Virginia_ , and as someone who's been schmoozing since before I could walk, I'd say I have the authority to proclaim that you're doing great without an argument."

"My god you're infuriating." Pepper grumbles.

"Natasha!"

Tony groans and leans heavily on the bar. "Will it be too obvious if I just, I don't know, _run_?"

Pepper smirks viciously. " _Yes._ "

"Natasha, is that you?"

"My least favourite person on Earth." She whispers to Pepper, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Hey, sweetheart."

"I'm gonna break his nose." She scowls and turns to face the idiot. "Justin Hammer."

"How you doing?" He asks, sidling up to her. "That dress should be _illegal_. You know

Christine Everhart from _Vanity Fair_? Do you guys know each other? _"_

"Hi, yes." Christine looks like a shark, and Tony vaguely remembers her shoving a stack of photographs under her nose and accusing her of being a criminal.

"Hi." Pepper returns the greeting uneasily. "Yes."

"I don't recall." Tony declares and turns around, signalling for the bartender. "Scotch, a double please."

"B.T.W, big story." Justin says, leaning into Christine and pointing rudely at Pepper. "The new C.E.O of Stark Industries. Congratulations."

"I know, I know." Christine simpers, waving her notebook around dramatically. "My editor will kill me if I don't grab a quote for our Powerful Women issue."

"Oh?"

"Can I?"

Pepper puts her drink down and nods. "Sure."

Pointing again, this time at Christine, Hammer interjects again. "She's actually doing a big spread on me for _Vanity Fair_. I thought I'd throw her a bone, you know. Right?"

"Oh, I'm sure she is." Pepper returns mockingly. "She did _quite_ the spread on Tony last year."

She chokes – _that's_ why she's familiar. "Oh, that wasn't good." Tony downs her scotch and Christine's smile becomes fixed.

"I'm gonna go wash." Pepper murmurs.

Tony reaches for her, scowling when all she grasps is air. "Don't leave me." She moans as Pepper smirks and wanders away.

Hammer sidles closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. Tony tries to push him off, but his grip is firm, and she's unable to escape. "Hey, sweetheart. How you doing?"

She glares. "I could be better."

"You're looking gorgeous."

"Let me go Hammer." Tony demands, attempting to pull away again, but is foiled again as Hammer directs her into a passing Photographer's path.

"Can I ask you…"

"No, you cannot." Tony answers.

"Is this the first time…" Christine continues, ignoring her.

Hammer pulls her closer again and poses. "Fromage!" He exclaims brightly, even as she scowls. "Say Brie".

"…that you guys have seen each other?"

Tony stamps on his foot and finally, Hammer releases her. She steps closer to the Photographer. "If you don't delete that photograph, I'll have you sued six ways from Sunday."

Christine impatiently calls for their attention once more. "Hey, you guys, listen! Is it the first time you've seen each other since the Senate?"

"Uh, since he got his contract revoked, when he was attempting to-"

Hammer interjects. "Actually, it's on hold."

Tony raises an eyebrow as she walks way. "That's not what I heard." She calls over her shoulder. "Christine, what's the difference between 'hold' and 'cancelled'? The truth?"

She's reminded of a shark again as Christine responds to her jab. "Yes, what is it?"

"No." Hammer continues, following her. "The truth is… Why don't we put that away? The truth is, I'm actually hoping to present something at your Expo."

Tony rolls her eyes. "Well, if you invent something that works, I'll make sure I get you a slot."

"Miss Stark?"

She breathes a sigh of relief as Natalie appears. "Yes?"

"Your corner table is ready."

 _Thank God,_ she thinks.

"I actually have a slot this year." Hammer bullshits. "Yes, I do."

"Hammer _needs_ a slot, Christine." She calls over her shoulder as she follows Natalie far from the idiot masquerading as an inventor. Pepper is sitting comfortably when she arrives, and Tony fixes her with a glare. "I can't believe you, my best friend of ten years, would leave me alone with that self-important fraud."

Pepper hides her mirth behind a sip of champagne. "I would never."

Tony shakes her head and plucks the flute from her hand. "Mine now." She says, downing it in one gulp. "Now, I'll be back. Natalie, please ensure Miss Potts has a drink in her hands at all times; water and soda do not count."

Natalie nods. "Yes Miss Stark."

Tony turns on her heel and moves through the crowded room easily, heading for the bathrooms. The room is empty when she enters, and she locks the door behind her; the last thing she needs is more _rumours._ She's always been fond of dresses with more _revealing_ necklines, and that did not change after the Arc Reactor was installed in her chest, but as she stares at it now, the bright blue light reflected cheerfully in the mirror, she wants nothing more than to cover it up, and hide it away. She pricks her finger on the reader pulled from her bra and scowls. _Fifty-three percent_.

"Fuck me." She mutters, gripping the edge of the bench tightly. "Got any other bad ideas?"

It springs to mind instantly; after all, _Howard_ had done it, years ago, why couldn't she? She slips from the bathroom with ease and casts her eyes across the room; Pepper is still seated, Natalie is by the bar and Happy has his back to her, staring out the window with the case in hand.

She's greeted joyously in both French and English as she enters the pit box baring the Stark Industries branding, a flute of champagne is pushed into her hand that she immediately sets delicately on a bench before making her request. It only takes bribery of course; a spoken guarantee of continued sponsoring for the next five years, in addition to access to any relevant inventions that could spur them onto the podium at every track. It only takes seconds for them to usher her into a change room with a suit in hand and as she vaults over the barrier and onto the pit lane, she marvels at every thunderous beat of her heart as adrenalin pumps through her veins.

A camera man shouts her name and she bows ,before rising and giving a jaunty wave to the assembled crowd. "Well, what's the use of having and _owning_ a race car if you don't drive it?"

Tony smiles charmingly as the driver scowls and climbs out of the vehicle, throwing his helmet on the ground in an accurate approximation of a toddler's tantrum, and storms off the track. She takes the offered hand of a technician, stepping easily into the race car, and accepts the helmet she's passed, pulling it over her braided hair without difficulty. She's used to red and gold, but finds herself enjoying blue and black, as she catches sight of herself on a jumbo screen; the straps holding her in place are tightened and she familiarises herself with the controls quickly, raising her thumb quickly when the technician completes his pre-race check.

The lights countdown, and she floors it, her adrenalin spiking as she keeps pace with professional racers, moving from sixth to fifth to fourth in seconds. It's Monaco like she's never seen it before, the cheering crowds and the beautiful city fading into a blur as she drives; it's faster than any car she's driven before, but it's _nothing_ , compared to the suit in flight. Tony's reached third, when the chatter in her ear becomes indiscernible; her mind refuses to process the sight she's faced with as she rounds a corner, and is suddenly airborne, the nose of her vehicle severed.

"J.A.R.V.I.S, what the _fuck_?" She wheezes, the breath knocked clean from her lungs as she lands. Too long, it takes, for her vision to clear and her mind to recall just where she is; in the wreckage of a race car, and not cocooned in the suit she's grown so used to. She tugs the helmet from her head and tries to focus through the ringing in her ears; _how the hell, had that man gotten an Arc Reactor._

Tony loses sight of him as three of her competitors collide, exploding in a fireball so hot she fears her skin will melt from her bones. She pulls at the restraints keeping her in place, grunting as they release and she faceplants the bitumen with all the grace of Pepper, drunk on Champagne. She rolls from the vehicle and not a moment too soon, for the electrified whip the man wields slices through the metal of the car like a knife through warm butter. His confusion is clear; he expected that blow to be her end.

Fury bubbles in her chest; he wears a stolen design, her father's design, _her design_ , and has the _audacity_ to weaponize it and use it against _her_? She picks a broken side panel off the ground and swings it at his head, the satisfying _thud_ it makes as the metal connects with flesh causing a vicious smile to cross her lips. He answers with a crack of the electrified whip against the panel, and her smile is knocked from her lips as she's thrown backwards and hits the ground hard. Breathless she rolls, his next crack of the whip narrowly missing her as she scrambles out of his path; what she wouldn't _give_ , for a suit she could call to her at will. He brings the whip down between her legs, and she jumps back, clambering to her feet and attempting to run, only for the whip to catch her boot, and send her face first into an upturned car.

Dazed, she fights to regain her breath, blood obscures her vision in one eye and her nostrils burn, the scent of petrol inescapable; she hears him behind her, _sees_ him in the cracked mirror of the car, every crack of the whips sound like thunder and in an instant she moves, diving over the car and is thrown into the air by the exploding fuel tank. Tony lands in a roll and staggers to her feet, turning back to stare at her attacker through the flame. Her arm burns, and she yelps, smothering the fire on with a gloved hand; some vacation this is. Tyres squeal, and Tony fights a grin as she spies the Rolls Royce rounding the bend; the man steps closer again, and Tony turns, scaling the barrier and chain-link fence with speed she didn't know she could reach.

She almost laughs as Happy sticks his head out the window. "Are you okay?" He yells, and Tony drops from the fence.

"You have the worst timing." She says breathlessly, and staggers toward him, leaning heavily on the car. "Were you heading for me or him?"

"I was trying to scare him." Happy responds and Tony shakes her head.

"Cause I couldn't tell." She shouts, her limbs shaking and her heart thundering.

"Are you out of your mind!" Pepper yells furiously, and Tony notices her in the backseat for the first time.

A hysterical laugh bubbles from her lips. "Oh, hey Pepper, we need better security."

"Get in the car right now!"

"I was attacked, we need better security!"

"Get in the fucking car Natasha!"

"You're the C.E.O!" She yells, matching Pepper's tone decibel for decibel as she rounds the car. "We need better security! _God_ , this is embarrassing." She mutters opening the door. "First vacation in two years."

Tony blinks; she's holding only half the door in her hand. " _Fuck me_."

Pepper screams, Happy reverses, before slamming back into first gear and attempting again, to crush the man against the barrier. "I got him!" Happy yells, and Tony drops the door.

"Hit him again! Hit him again!" She bellows, and looks to Pepper, still screaming in the back seat. Happy reverses again. "Football!" Tony demands, reaching for the shining red case in Pepper's hands.

"I got him! I got him!"

"Take the case!" Pepper yelps as Happy rams the man against the fence. "Take the case!"

"Give her the case!" Happy squawks, shifting back into reverse.

"Stop banging the car!" Pepper shrieks and Tony again fights the hysterical urge to laugh as Happy's airbag explodes and the man moves, the whips lighting as he brings them down viciously on the Rolls, the roof giving way under the crushing blows. He cracks the whip, and Pepper screams, a cross-section of the Rolls cut from the vehicle.

"Pepper! Give me the case! Please!" Tony yells. "Throw me the case now!"

Pepper throws the case from the remains of the car and Tony _calms_ as the football slides across the asphalt; she raises her foot, locking the case into place and simultaneously flipping it upright as it expands, the gloves popping up and open. She leans forward, her hands slipping easily into place, and lifts the expanded case, spreading her arms wide and allowing the suit to contour to her body, the familiar sound of the metal clicking into place and the phasers electrifying makes her smile; a life without her suit, would be no life worth living.

The crowd roars, the visor drops on the suit, and Tony's grin widens, as J.A.R.V.I.S's voice sounds in her ear. "I am unsurprised that you have found trouble on this trip Miss Stark."

"Hello to you too J.A.R.V.I.S." She responds, stepping forward and kicking the remains of the Rolls out of the man's path. Turning back to face him, she raises her palm, the mechanical sound of the phaser beginning to fire is music to her ears; he cracks the whip and hits her arm soundly, spinning her around. She raises her other arm even as he swipes her across the chest, and fires, growling as he bats the beam away. She fires again and he does the same, before raising the whip as the cowboys in the old movies Edwin was so fond of, lassoing one around her arm and the other around her neck. Tony grunts; he hasn't cut through the metal, but it's hot, uncomfortably so. "J.A.R.V.I.S-" She is cut off as her attacker yanks the whips, and she's thrown, once again, through the air.

Tony tucks into a roll and lands heavily on one knee, barely managing to drag herself to her feet, before she's hurled through the air and lands brutally on the hood of the irreparable Rolls Royce. "Mother _fucker_." She moans. She can feel the suit buckling around her neck, she can hear Pepper crying and hear Happy bellowing for her to stand but she fails to do so before she's jerked from the hood, and hits the ground again, landing roughly on her hands and knees.

Tony braces herself on one hand as she stares up at the man; he glares at her smugly, and her anger _flares_ as her display blinks in and out of focus. The suit is damaged, she can't hear J.A.R.V.I.S in her ear or use the blaster on her left hand, she's aching and bruised and burnt; Tony is _livid_ that this man with stolen tech and a self-righteous grin on his lips has _brought her to her knees._

She stands, wrapping the whip around her arm twice and steps forward, doing the same with her left until she's before him, and the grin is wiped off his lips by a solid left hook. Tony sees the surprise in his eyes as she returns the favour and flips him into the air. She strides forward, scowling even as he wheezes on the ground and pulls the glowing Arc Reactor from his chest.

The world seems to slow around her as she stares down at the blinking device in her hands, her mind whirrs through the possibilities; she doesn't hear the roar of the crowd, see the police as they surround the now laughing man… _how did this happen?_

"You!" The man laughs through bloodied lips. "You lose!" He's picked up by his arms and dragged from the track. "You lose! You lose Stark!" His laughter grates like razors on her skin, and her attention is drawn back to the Arc Reactor in her hand; it's an almost perfect replica. Her fist closes and the device buckles, glass and metal cracking loudly between her fingers.

Sirens echo in her ears, and distantly, she hears her name shouted through the din; Pepper, her dress somehow still immaculate, has Happy leaning heavily on her shoulder. Tony moves in an instant, her visor opening on her first step and slips Happy's arm off Pepper's shoulder, wrapping it easily across her own.

"I'm fine Tony." He protests half-heartedly.

"Be thankful I'm not carrying you bridal style Hap." She murmurs softly, leading the way off the track, and back to their suite. "J.A.R.V.I.S?"

"Yes Miss Stark?"

"Two things. I want wheels up in four hours, maximum, get us stateside as soon as possible."

"And the second Miss Stark?"

"Find whatever hole they've put him in. We have things to discuss."

* * *

 **AN:** Natasha Stark begged to be written after watching Infinity War, so, here is the first chapter of what promises to be a very _long_ story.

May 23rd 2019: Revisited to fix a few things


	2. II - Exposure

**AN:** Any recognisable dialogue belongs exclusively to the Marvel Studios and Walt Disney Studios; Marvel Cinematic Universe

* * *

 **The Road to Hell (is Paved with Good Intentions)**

Tony Stark; genius, billionaire, philanthropist. Tony, because Howard wanted a son, Natasha, because Maria birthed a daughter instead.

* * *

 **Chapter II –** _Exposure_

* * *

Her heels echo off the concrete.

The hole they've thrown him in is dark, dank and cold; it reminds her uncomfortably of Afghanistan and she straightens her back, pushing that realisation into a corner of her mind filled with things she would rather forget.

" _We ran his prints. We got nothing back, not even a name."_ The Warden, a balding man in an ill-fitting suit, tells her in French.

" _Where are we going?"_ She asks, and inwardly winces, her accent grating even to her own ears. She's still fluent, but she's _rusty_ and she can only imagine how sloppy she's gotten with the other few languages she was taught as a child.

" _Over there._ " The Warden answers; he barely reaches her shoulder and has to trot to keep pace. " _We're not even sure he speaks English. He hasn't said a word since he got here."_

Tony nods. " _Five minutes."_

The Warden shakes his head. " _Miss I cannot allow-"_

" _You can._ " Tony disagrees, gesturing to the door. " _And you will._ "

With clear reluctance, the Warden motions for the door to be unlocked. " _Five minutes_." He agrees finally, and the door is opened.

Tony enters slowly; the room is larger than she expected, lit dimly with fluorescent lighting and a few degrees colder than the dismal corridor. He looks uncomfortable, half hunched over a bench at the far side of the room; they've stripped him of what little was left of the orange jumpsuit after the Arc powered skeleton burnt through it, leaving him only in his underwear. Cruelly, she thinks it's an indignity he deserves.

"Pretty decent tech." She murmurs, stepping further into the room. "Cycles per second were a little low, you could have doubled up on your rotations." Tony leans nonchalantly against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, level with the bench he sits on. "You focused the repulsor through ionised plasma channels. It's effective. Not very efficient… but it's a passable knock off."

Despite the jabs, he remains silent, an increasingly smug expression growing on his face. She wants to smack it off him, demand to know where he _stole_ the designs that saved her life and created the Iron Woman. "I don't get it." She says finally. "A little finetuning and you could have made a solid pay check. You could have sold it to North Korea, China, Iran… or gone right to the Black Market." She eyes the cuffs on his wrists, the shackles on his ankles and the chain that binds them together – she sneers. "You look like you've got friends in low places."

"You come from a family of _thieves_ and _butchers_." He says in heavily accented English, a cruel smile blooming on his lips as he stares at her. "And now, like all the guilty, you try to rewrite your own history and you forget all the lives the _Stark_ family has destroyed."

He says her name like a _curse_ , and she kicks off the wall, moving closer to the chained criminal, trying furiously, to ignore his poisonous words. "Speaking of thieves, where did you get this design?"

He smiles. "My Father. Anton Vanko."

"Well, I've never heard of him." She says, stepping toward the door; she's had enough.

"My Father," he begins again, "is the reason you're alive."

Tony stops. "The reason I am alive is because you had a shot, you took it and you missed."

"Did I?" He asks. "If you can make a God bleed, then people will cease to believe in him, there will be blood in the water… and the sharks will come. The truth? All I have to do is sit here and watch as the world consumes you."

Tony shakes her head and turns to face him. "And where will you be watching the world consume me from? That's right, a _prison cell_." She returns to the door. "I'll send you a bar of soap."

"Hey Tony." He calls, as she knocks for the door to be opened. "Before you go. Palladium in the chest… painful way to die."

She hears his laughter as she leaves, pushing through the crowd of curious men standing outside the door, his words ringing tauntingly in her ears.

* * *

" _It's just unbelievable. It proves that the genie is out of the bottle and this_ woman _has no idea what she's doing. She thinks of the Iron Woman weapon as a toy. I was at a hearing where Miss Stark, in fact, was adamant that these suits can't exist anywhere else, don't exist anywhere else, never will exist anywhere else, at least for five to ten years, and here we are in Monaco realising, 'These suits exist now_.'"

* * *

"J.A.R.V.I.S what have you got for me?" She asks, leaning back in the Roadster, the comfortable ruby seats the inspiration for the colour of the suit.

"Anton Vanko was a Soviet physicist who defected to the United States in 1963." J.A.R.V.I.S begins. The A.I brings forth numerous articles as he speaks, shuffling them forward and back, magnifying the grainy pictures and the ominous titles. _Soviet Scientist Vanko defects._ "However, he was accused of espionage and was deported in 1967." _Soviet Scientist Accused of Spying._ _Vanko Guilty!_ _Soviet Physicist Deported._

Each article is more damning than the last, but there's a traitorous, awful part of her that wonders; how much of what was written... was true? "His son, Ivan, who is also a physicist, was convicted of selling Soviet-era weapons grade plutonium to Pakistan and served 15 years in Kopeisk prison." _Scientist Arrested for Selling Plutonium. Russian Physicist Convicted._ "No further records exist." _Ivan Vanko Dies in Prison Escape Attempt._

She stares at the holograms until the words begin to blur and her head begins to ache; Ivan Vanko was not a good man, this she knows, but she can't help but wonder, just how big of a hand her Father had, in sending him down this path. Tony sighs, on the list of questions she'll never have answered by her Father, this doesn't even make the top ten.

"Tony, you gotta get upstairs and get on top of this situation right now." Rhodey's voice echoes in the silence, but she's exhausted, spent, and has no desire to listen to a lecture – so she remains, staring at the screens with Ivan Vanko's mugshot staring back at her. "Listen." She hears the door close, and Rhodey's shoes click. "I've been on the phone with the National Guard all day, trying to talk them out of rolling tanks up the Pacific Coast Highway, knocking down your front door and taking these. They're gonna take your suits, Tony, okay? They're sick of the games. You said nobody else would possess this technology for twenty years. Well, guess what? Somebody else had it yesterday. It's not theoretical anymore! Are you listening to me?" He grabs her shoulder and forces her to look up at him; his face twists and she recognises the worry in his eyes. "Are you okay?"

Tony shrugs. With Ninety percent of her blood poisoning her, she thinks it's frankly a miracle she doesn't look worse. "Let's go." She says softly and scoots across the seat, opening the door and stepping out. Her legs give out after the first step – she clutches at the Roadster's door in an attempt to avoid the concrete floor.

Rhodey's at her side in an instant, lifting her easily despite their similar stature. "Hey, hey! You all right?

Tony leans on him heavily. "Yeah, I should get to my desk." She murmurs, berating herself internally; she wasn't usually such a masochist, the core in her chest should have been changed hours ago. "See that cigar box?"

Rhodey nods. "Yeah."

"It's palladium."

Rhodey sits her down and reaches for the Cigar box. Tony drags her shirt up and over her shoulders, letting it hang on one arm as she twists the Arc Reactor and removes it easily from her chest.

The palladium core pops out, and Tony glares at it hatefully even as she reaches for the core in Rhodey's hand. He hesitates."Is that supposed to be smoking?"

"If you must know," she begins slowly, every action without the reactor in her chest requiring maximum effort, "it's neutron damage. From the reactor wall."

He lifts the reactor from her hand and pulls the still smoking palladium core out. She watches his face as he examines it; worry is still present, but it's lined with an undercurrent of fear. "You had this in your body?" Tony doesn't answer, but she can feel his eyes burning on her back; he'd _seen_. The lattice of raised black veins spreading further with every percentage on the blood toxicity reader... it's the only _true_ outward indication that this time, it's something _more_ than a bender, something more than a fucked-up headspace or her _raging_ _daddy issues_. "And how about the high-tech crossword puzzle on your neck?"

Tony lies easily, and without remorse, despite knowing Rhodey won't buy a word of what she's selling. "Road rash."

"Uhhuh." Rhodey nods but hands the reactor back despite her unfulfilling answer.

"Thank you." She says finally, as the Arc Reactor splutters back to life in her chest. She pulls her shirt back on, breathing just a little easier as she reaches for the solution J.A.R.V.I.S synthesised. She can still feel his eyes on her as she takes a sip. "What are you looking at?"

"I'm looking at you." His voice is no louder than a whisper, but in the absolute silence, he might as well shout. She risks a glance over her shoulder, and immediately regrets her decision; he looks… _devastated_. "You wanna do this whole lone gunslinger act and it's unnecessary. _You don't have to do this alone._ "

"You know, I wish I could believe that." Tony replies softly. "I really do. But you've gotta trust me. Contrary to popular belief, I know exactly what I'm doing."

He doesn't believe her; it's broadcast plainly in the disapproving set of his jaw and the folding of his arms. It's unsurprising, his disbelief in her lies and she can't blame him because she _is_ winging it and she _is_ isolating herself.

"Okay." Rhodey says finally and she grimaces – he shouldn't have to bury another friend. It's no consolation, she thinks, that this time he'll at the very least, have a body to bury. "Okay."

* * *

" _If this was your last birthday party that you were ever going to have… how would you celebrate it?_

" _I'd do whatever I wanted to do. With whoever I wanted to do it with."_

* * *

Tony reclines in the inside of the donut, her head aching and her body the same.

J.A.R.V.I.S with pettiness she doesn't remember programming, unhelpfully replays the recorded footage of the destruction wrought at the Malibu Mansion, the clash between Rhodey and herself more damning than any of the shenanigans she was reamed for by her A.I's namesake in her youth. "Enough J.A.R.V.I.S," she groans finally, "I am well aware of what occurred last night, I do not need a replay of the highlights."

"Whilst we are on the topic of lights Miss Stark, I have organised for a contractor to come at the earliest availability." J.A.R.V.I.S speaks, and idly, Tony wonders just when she allowed J.A.R.V.I.S to change his volume at will. "Next month."

She rolls her eyes and removes her helmet, popping another powdered donut into her mouth. Any other time she'd perhaps find it amusing that she's being punished by her Artificial Intelligence system... but her head throbs and she just wants to eat her damn donuts in peace.

"Ma'am! I'm gonna have to ask you to exit the donut."

Tony almost falls out of the giant ring. She peers over the edge and groans audibly, setting aside her half-eaten box of donuts she swings her legs over the edge. "You've got to be fucking joking."

"Inside Stark." Fury demands and feeling like scolded school-girl, Tony palms her helmet and drops, landing in an easy crouch. She follows a few steps behind as he strolls casually into the Diner; she's more than a little envious of the way he commands attention, even when there is no attention to be received. He directs her to a booth and not waiting for her acceptance, slides into the booth first, reclining easily in the corner. "Coffee?"

The seat creaks as she drops into it and she nods, accepting the offered cup. Tony doesn't speak until she's drained three-quarters, her hungover mind unwilling to _truly_ deal with Nick Fury without coffee in her lagging system. "Y'know, I've already told you I don't want to join your super-secret boy band." She says without preamble; it's a bold-faced lie and they both know it, Natasha Stark was never and would not ever, be approved for the _Avenger Initive –_ and why would she want to be?

"No, no, no. See, I remember, you do everything yourself." Tony rolls her eyes as he speaks. "How's that working out for you?"

"It's… It's… It's…" She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I don't wanna get off on the wrong foot. Do I look at the patch or the eye? Honestly, I'm a bit hung over. I'm not sure if you're real of if I'm having–"

"I am very real. I'm the realest person you're ever gonna meet." Fury snaps, tired of her babbling after only a few seconds.

"Just my luck. Where's the staff here?"

Fury leans forward and hooks a finger in the neck of her suit and drags her closer to gain a better look at the _high-tech crossword puzzle._ "That's not looking so good."

"I've been worse." She lies with a nonchalant shrug.

Footsteps echo in the empty Diner but Tony ignores them, returning her focus to her coffee; it's probably Phil. "We've secured the perimeter, but I don't think we should hold it for too much longer."

Tony looks up, the voice striking in its familiarity. "Ohhhhhh." She groans."You're _fired_."

Natalie raises a brow. "That's not up to you."

"Oh, by all means." Tony grumbles sarcastically as Natalie sits.

"Natasha, I want you to meet Agent Romanoff."

"Can't say I'm entirely surprised." Tony declares and drains the cup. "Your dresses were too tight."

Agent Romanoff frowns. "So are yours."

Tony shrugs. "It's my company."

"Once we knew you were ill, I was tasked to you by Director Fury." Agent Romanoff continues, ignoring Tony's previous comment.

"Of course, you were." She grumbles, glaring at the man across the table.

"You've been very busy." Fury begins, unaffected by the glare. "You made your personal assistant your C.E.O, you're giving away all your stuff; you let your friend fly away in your suit!" He leans forward. "Now, if I didn't know any better…"

"You don't know better." Tony snaps, despite knowing Fury is right. The chrome suit Rhodey _misappropriated_ is one of a kind; it was made, _especially_ for him. If she's going to die, then Rhodey's taking up her mantel. "I didn't give it to him. He took it." It's the truth; only, because she hadn't yet had the chance to gift it to her best friend.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Fury held up a hand. "He took it? You're Iron Woman and he just took it? The little brother walked in there, kicked your ass and took your suit?" He looks to Agent Romanoff. "Is that possible?"

Agent Romanoff shakes her head and Tony shifts her glare to the imposter. "Well, according to Miss Stark's database security guidelines, there are redundancies to prevent unauthorised usage."

"How many of my systems did you get into Rushman?" _Unauthorised_ usage, she scoffs internally. It's her suit, she can allow anyone she damn well pleases to use it. "What do you want from me?"

Fury raises an eyebrow. "What do we want from you? What do you want from me?" Agent Romanoff stands, and Tony keeps the spy in her peripheral vision. "You have become a problem, a problem I have to deal with. Contrary to your belief, you are not the centre of my universe. I have bigger problems than you in the Southwest region to deal with." Romanoff returns, and Tony sees a glint of silver in her hand. "Hit her."

Tony tries to duck, but her sluggish mind refuses to comply, and she's jabbed harshly in the side of the neck. "Oh, God, are you gonna steal my kidney and sell it?" She heaves, and suddenly finds that her breathing becomes easier, the burning in her chest receding to a dull ache. "Could you please not do anything awful for five seconds?" Tony demands of Rushman and returns her glare to Fury. "What did she just do to me?"

"What did we just do _for_ you? That's Lithium Dioxide. It's gonna take the edge off. We're trying to get you back to work."

Tony recognises a quick fix when she sees one but reaches for it like a drowning man reaches for the shore. "Give me a couple of boxes of that. I'll be right as rain."

"It's not a cure, it just abates the symptoms."

Fury shakes his head. "Doesn't look like it's gonna be an easy fix."

Tony rolls her eyes. "Trust me, I know. I'm good at this stuff. I've been looking for a suitable replacement for palladium. I've tried every combination, every permutation of every known element."

"Well, I'm here to tell you, you haven't tried them all."

She raises an eyebrow and waits for an explanation; it doesn't come. "Are you going to elaborate or…?"

"Sir," Rushman, Romanoff, whatever her name is, interjects, "we need to move, we have held the perimeter too long as it is."

Fury nods. "Is the nest secure?"

"The nest?" Tony asks.

"Yes Sir." Agent Romanoff nods. "Agent Coulson has his agents stationed and ready."

Fury stands, sliding from the booth easily. "Think you can find your way home without causing an international incident Natasha?"

Helmet on and visor down, Tony glares at Fury, the suit's eyes glowing. " _Don't_ call me Natasha, Nicholas."

She stalks from the diner, Fury's patronising laughter ringing mockingly in her ears and is in the air in an instant; _this_ is where she is meant to be, safely encased in the suit, flying at hundreds of miles per hour… the closest to _free_ she'll ever be.

* * *

 _"Higher, Further, Faster baby."_

* * *

The nest, as it turns out, is her Malibu Mansion.

She loops the perimeter, Coulson's black suited Agents stand at attention, living statues guarding the boundary of her property and, she finds as she lands, multiple points throughout the mansion. The armour opens, and she steps from the suit, her slacks rumpled, and her silk shirt torn. She gingerly picks her way through the mess; chunks of concrete torn from the ceiling litter the floor, shards of glass from the blown-out windows, cables hang, ripped and torn from the walls.

"Fuck me." She murmurs as she finally enters her suite; it's just as trashed as the rest of the mansion, her bed broken in half and her windows similarly blown-out, but she finds her ensuite intact, and gratefully peels her clothes from her body and steps into the shower. The water refuses to heat, and she shivers under the spray, not for the first time regretting that she programmed J.A.R.V.I.S with all the sarcastic wit of his namesake.

"Miss Stark, Director Fury has arrived and is waiting for you in what's left of the foyer."

The water cuts out, and Tony scowls at the ceiling, J.A.R.V.I.S having control of the mansion working against her. "Good, let him wait." She replies, eyeing herself critically in the mirror. She looks sickly, just a little too pale and a little too thin to be well. With shaking fingertips, she traces where puckered skin meets metal. Would it have been easier, she wonders, if she had died in that cave in Afghanistan?

Dressed now, in an obnoxious silk robe she'd rather die than admit belonged to her Father, Tony plasters a disarming smile on her lips as she strolls into the foyer, finding Fury lounging comfortably in a chair dragged from the deck. "Comfortable?" She asks, dropping into the empty chair beside him. He nods regally, and she rolls her eyes. "I believe you were going to give me an explanation."

Fury leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "That thing in your chest is based on unfinished technology."

Tony shakes her head, disagreeing immediately. "No, it was finished. It has never been particularly effective until I miniaturised it and put it in my…" She taps her chest.

"No." Fury refuses. "Howard said-"

"Howard said." Tony scoffs.

" _Howard said,"_ Fury repeats, "that the arc reactor was the stepping stone to something greater. He was about to kick off an energy race that was going to dwarf the arms race. He was on to something big, something so big that it was gonna make the nuclear reactor look like a triple-A battery."

"Just him," She asks, "or was Anton Vanko in on this too?"

"Anton Vanko is the other side of that coin." Fury answers, gesturing with his hands as he leans toward her. "Anton saw it as a way to get rich. When your father found out, he had him deported. When the Russians found out he couldn't deliver they shipped his ass off to Siberia and he spent the next twenty years in a vodka-fuelled rage. Not quite the environment you want to raise a kid in – the son you had the misfortune of crossing paths with in Monaco."

It grates on her, the way Fury speaks as though he knows exactly what occurred between her Father and Vanko; is it memories he speaks from she wonders, or knowledge gained the same way she attained hers, through copious government databases and newspaper articles. "You told me I hadn't tried everything." Tony steers the conversation back to what was said at the Diner. "What do you mean I haven't tried everything? What haven't I tried?"

"He said that you were the only person with the means and knowledge to finish what he started."

Howard Stark, who hadn't even bothered to turn up to her M.I.T graduation, said _she,_ the daughter he _never_ wanted, was the only one able to finish his greatest unfinished piece of technology… it's _unbelievable_. "He said that?" She attempts to confirm.

"Are you that person?" Fury asks, sidestepping her question. "Are you? 'Cause if you are, then you can solve the riddle of your heart."

"I don't know where you get your information, but he wasn't my biggest fan."

Her scepticism in Fury's words must have shown, for he leans back in his chair and changes tactics somewhat. "What do you remember about your Dad?"

"He was cold, he was calculating." She gestures aimlessly, unsure how to continue. "He never told me he loved me. He never even told me he liked me, so it's a little tough for me to digest when you're telling me he said the whole future was riding on me and he's passing it down. I don't _get_ that." She laughs sardonically. "You're talking about a guy whose happiest day was when he shipped me off to boarding school."

"That's not true."

"Well, then, clearly you knew my Dad better than I did." She mutters, and downs her glass; it's only water, sparkling though it may be, it doesn't have the burn or taste she craves.

"As a matter of fact, I did." She thinks he couldn't have dug the knife deeper into her heart if he tried. "He was one of the founding members of S.H.I.E.L.D." Fury says, checking his watch.

"What?"

"I got a two o'clock."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait." Tony demands, hurriedly rising alongside Fury. "What's this?" She asks, when two more suit-clad Agents appear, placing a large container at her feet.

"Okay, you're good, right?"

"No," She shakes her head, "No, I'm not good."

"You got this? Right?" Fury asks, a smirk rising to his lips. "Right?"

"Got what?" She exclaims as he turns his back. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to get!"

"Natasha will remain a floater at Stark with her cover intact."

" _Natasha?_ "

Fury continues as though he didn't hear her, shrugging on his jacket and gesturing to Phil. "You remember Agent Coulson, right?"

"Yeah?" She answers, bewildered.

"And Natasha, remember…" Fury says, turning back to her. "I got my eye on you."

Tony stares after him, fighting the urge to gape as Fury wanders off, and _Natasha_ sidles up beside her.

"We've disabled all communications. No contact with the outside world."

"You can't do that." Tony snaps, annoyed.

Natasha grins. "I just did." She looks to Phil. "Good luck."

She leaves without a backwards glance and Tony throws her hands up as Phil stares at her impassively. "Is this some kind of sick joke?" Fury's right hand doesn't answer, even as Tony fixes him with a mutinous glare. "Fine, send one of your goon squad for coffee; none of that Starbucks crap, I want a café made, honest to god cappuccino ASAP."

Phil shakes his head, and Tony decides she's taking him off the Christmas gift registry for good. "I'm not here for that. I've been authorised by Director Fury to use any means necessary to keep you on premises. If you attempt to leave or play any games, I will tase you and watch _Supernanny_ while you drool into the carpet. Okay?"

Tony scowls. "I think I got it, yeah."

Agent Coulson nods. "Enjoy your evening's entertainment."

He too leaves, and childishly, Tony pokes her tongue out at his retreating figure before turning and glaring at the plastic container at her feet.

 _Property of H. Stark_

"Hey! Tweedledee and Tweedledum," She calls to the two nameless Agents stationed a few feet away, "If Fury wants me to figure this out, that box needs to be moved inside. Get to it boys."

Somewhat surprisingly, the two men comply, easily lifting the container and following a step behind her as she directs them downstairs to her Lab'. Glass litters the steps and she sighs, thinking perhaps she should keep a contractor on the Stark Industries payroll permanently.

"You can put it down over there." She points to the carpeted area to the far left of her lab. They place it down gently and step back. "Thank you, Gentlemen. You know, I'd tip you, but I think S.H.I.E.L.D. would frown on that."

The men remain aloof and she rolls her eyes as they leave; _boring_ , she thinks as she sinks to her knees beside the plastic container. She opens it without ceremony, the latches falling away easily – it's… _not_ … what she expected, after all Fury's talk of secrets and riddles. Blueprints she recognises as the Arc Reactor in its earliest stages bare both her Father's name and Anton Vanko's, yellowed newspaper clippings she identifies as the very same J.A.R.V.I.S showed her days ago, a flyer for the original Stark Expo, film reels marked with dates she doesn't know the significance of and notebook after notebook, filled with her Father's elegant handwriting. But it's not these that cause her to sit back on her heels, a sharp jab of pain striking through her heart, no, it is two pristine copies of the original Captain America comic books, emblazoned with the face of a man her Father had never forgotten, but failed to find. She knows his name, remembers his story from the tales Edwin spun as he tucked her into bed as a child or Auntie told when she'd scraped her knee and asked for a reminder on how to be brave… _before_ , she grew to resent the man her Father loved so much more than she.

She sets the comics aside and slowly gets to her feet, intent on finding the old projector she knows is down here somewhere. It's stashed away, the outdated technology still in pristine condition, hidden out of sight on a shelf filled with forgotten machinery. Her Father's voice soon reverberates and though it's been years, Tony feels like a child again as she listens, inadequate, _unwanted_ , useless, in furthering the Stark legacy.

" _Everything is achievable through technology. Better living, robust heath and for the first time in human history, the possibility of world peace. I'm Howard Stark, and everything you'll need for the future can be found right here_."

She flips carefully through the pages of an old notebook, the year 1945 is emblazoned in the top right corner of the outside cover and on the inside, sketch after sketch of the same cube alongside dimensions and calculations surely far ahead of her Father's time.

" _City of the Future? City of Tomorrow? City of…_ " Her eyes flick to the screen as her Father shakes his head and returns to his first position. " _I'm Howard Stark and everything you'll need in the future can be found right here. So, from all of us at Stark Industries, I would like to personally…_ _Natasha, what are you doing back there? What is that?_ " She looks up again as her name is called and watches as her younger self winces, a tiny model building held in her hand. " _Put that back. Put it back where you got it from! Where's your mother? Maria_?" Tony's hoping for a glimpse of her mother all golden blonde hair and high cheekbones, but it's an assistant that retrieves her younger self… she tries not to be disappointed. " _Go on. Go, go, go, go._ "

" _All right, I think we got the uh… I'll… I'll… I'll come in and…_ _"_

The film flickers, the screen blanking for a moment as the projector whirrs and the next film starts. Her Father is sitting now, a crystal tumbler of what she presumes is the Whiskey he so favoured, in his hand.

" _Are you waiting on me?_ "

A countdown begins, and the scene changes again. " _So, from all of us at Stark Industries, I'd like to personally show you… my ass. I'd like to… I can't… This is… I can't… We have this, don't we? This is a ridiculous way… Everything…_ _is achievable through technology_." Tony sets the notebook aside when she reaches blank pages, her Father obviously never again continuing this line of work. She rubs at her temples, feeling a headache coming on; this stuff, this _junk_ is useless, filled with half-finished thoughts scrawled messily in the margins of notebooks and inventions her Father never saw realised.

" _Natasha_?" Her attention returns to the projector so quickly she fears she's given herself whiplash. Her Father leans against the diorama of the 1974 Stark Expo. " _My little Antionette_... _You're too young to understand this right now, so I thought I would put it on film for you. Some days I fear I will not live to see you grow the woman I know you will become, but I need you to know. I built this for you. And someday you'll realise that it represents a whole lot more than just people's inventions. It represents my life's work. This is the key to the future. I'm limited by the technology of my time, but one day you'll figure this out. And when you do, you will change the world. What is and always will be my greatest creation… is you._ "

The film ends, her Father's soft smile branded across her mind as the projector dims and she's left in the dark. All at once, her sadness turns to anger; _why_ couldn't he have shown even an _ounce_ of this pride when she was a child? _What is and always will be my greatest creation…_ her glass joins the rest of the debris littering the house, shattering into shards when she throws it at the wall opposite.

* * *

" _When Miss Stark announced she was indeed Iron Woman, she made a promise to America. We trusted that she would look out for us. She obviously did not. And now we learn her_ secretary, _a woman named Virginia 'Pepper' Potts, has been appointed as C.E.O of Stark Industries! What are_ her _qualifications? She has done little to manage this terrible disappointment dealt by Tony Stark and you have to wonder, should we leave the Iron Woman weapon_ and _Stark Industries in such incapable hands?"_

* * *

"Pep, Pep, Pepper!" Tony exclaims into the phone. "Pep please, just trust me okay, this is going to be _fine_!"

"No Natasha this is not fine! Do you even understand the fires I've been trying to put out? Do you know how hard it is, when all _you_ are doing giving me is gasoline?"

Tony winces, and waves her hand at the Agent's turned delivery men bringing in what was left of her affects from the office that is now Pepper's at Stark Industries. She _was_ intending to go herself, but the very idea of Pepper's ire stoked and focused in her direction was unappealing to say the least – her self-preservation instinct may be damaged, but it isn't _entirely_ broken. Tony stops, her eyes widening and her head tilting to the side as she spies _the_ 1974 Stark Expo diorama, miraculously intact and being placed carefully in the middle of her Lab; she cups a hand around one eye. "Pep, I'm sorry, I've gotta go." She says absently, hanging up amidst Pepper's aggravated protests. What was it that Howard said?

"Gentlemen, thank you for your time, I can take it from here." Tony speaks, dismissing the still lingering Agents. "J.A.R.V.I.S." She begins again as she heaves the heavy glass case off the top of the diorama with the less than helpful aide of U and Dum-E. It's covered in a thick layer of dust, but, it's just as she remembers. "Could you kindly Vac-U-Form a digital wire frame? I need a manipulatable projection."

J.A.R.V.I.S scans the model, slowly but surely mapping the diorama building for building, sidewalk for sidewalk, tree for tree – layered with the blue projection, Tony thinks the piece her Father built suddenly beautiful. "1974 Stark Expo model complete, Ma'am."

She lifts her hands, and the projection rises with them. "Uh, how many buildings are there?"

"Am I to include the Belgium waffle stands?"

Tony rolls her eyes at the ceiling and turns, letting the projection hover in the clear area before her. "That was rhetorical. Just show me." With a snap of her fingers she directs the projection to spin and lift upright as she retrieves her wheelie chair. "What does that look like to you J.A.R.V.I.S?" She asks as the projection stills, the centre of it hovering before her in the air. " _Not_ unlike an atom." Tony murmurs, reaching forward. "In which case the nucleus would be here. Highlight the unisphere." She traces it with a finger, J.A.R.V.I.S helpfully turning the aforementioned area gold and expands it within her hands. She rolls backwards, and stares at the projection contemplatively. "Lose the footpaths. Get rid of them." She swipes them away.

"What is it you're trying to achieve, Ma'am?"

"I'm discovering… uh, correction. I'm rediscovering a new element, I believe." She rakes a hand through her hair, wincing as she tugs a knot loose. "Lose the landscaping, the shrubbery, the trees." Each order is accompanied with a flick of her hand, erasing the irrelevant areas. "Parking lots, exits, entrances. Structure the protons and the neutrons using the pavilions as a framework." J.A.R.V.I.S does so, and she clasps and unclasps her hands, expanding the unisphere once more. Sitting in the centre of the blue and gold nucleus projection, Tony fights the urge to laugh. "Dad… dead for almost twenty years, and still taking me to school." She claps, and the projection shrinks until she can hold it between her thumb and forefinger.

"The proposed element should serve as a viable replacement for palladium." J.A.R.V.I.S intones.

Tony allows herself a smile. "Thanks, Dad." She whispers.

"Unfortunately, it is impossible to synthesise."

Tony laughs. "Don't be such a downer J.A.R.V.I.S! Get ready for a major remodel, fellas. We're back in hardware mode."

She doesn't sleep; she's got mere days left on her clock and so she makes every hour count as she jackhammers through layers of concrete, runs cable after cable and pays exorbitant amounts of money to get what she needs delivered within the day. Until finally, she's ratcheting the last bolt into place and praying that the bubble in the level will move just that little bit to the left.

"You broke my Perimeter."

Tony shakes her head, unconcerned as Phil enters the now remodelled Lab. "Wrong, I hired delivery men."

"You are incorrigible."

She rolls her eyes. "I've played nice with your Agents, hell Phil, I even tried to tip them."

"What's this doing here?"

Tony glances over her shoulder and scowls. Clutched reverently between shaking hands, Phil stares shocked at the bare-bones prototype shield, the _iconic_ red, white and blue of _Captain America._ Tony hates it on sight.

Still… she gestures Phil forward, adopting an oblivious air. "That's it, bring that to me."

"You know what this is?" He asks and she's almost offended; it's a stupid question really, does _Howard Stark's_ daughter recognise _Captain_ _America's_ shield.

"Uh huh, it's exactly what I need to make this work." She pulls the shield from his hands and spins it easily. "Lift the coil." Phil hesitates. "Go, go, put your knees into it." She demands, and slides the shield into place, unable to ignore the petty satisfaction that shoots through her watching the prototype buckle as the coil straightens. She grins. "Perfectly level. Anyway, I'm busy. What do you want?"

"Nothing." He shrugs. "Goodbye. I've been reassigned. Director Fury wants me in New Mexico."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Fantastic? Uh, Land of Enchantment."

Agent Coulson nods. "So I'm told."

"Secret stuff?"

"Something like that. Good luck."

Tony drops her gaze, fiddling with the level. "Goodbye… and thanks."

Phil nods again. "We need you."

"Yeah, more than you know." She quips.

Phil smirks. "Not that much."

She shakes her head as he leaves, and returns her attentions to the coils, inserting the prism and attaching a wrench to the wheel to aide in turning it. Leaning over the nearby console, Tony locks the key into place and smiles as the coils begin to hum.

"Initialising prismatic accelerator." J.A.R.V.I.S intones, and the hum turns into a high-pitched whirr. Tony strains against the wrench, the rattling of coils as the energy coursing through them grows making it difficult to maintain her grip. "Approaching maximum power."

At J.A.R.V.I.S's statement, she pulls, the wheel the wrench is attached to turning slowly, the whirring becoming a high-pitched screech. The beam cuts deeply into the wall, a fire sparking along the line left behind. "Whoops." She mutters, quickly moving to the other side of the wrench so she can push. The beam dissects a mustard coloured cabinet she doesn't remember ever filling and burns halfway through the bookshelf next to it before it hits the triangular core. The sound changes again, the piercing noise growing louder and louder until all she wants is to clap her hands over her ears and cover her eyes to block the almost blinding light emanating from the creation of the new element. She reaches forward to cut the power, but the switch refuses to engage.

Panic floods her veins. "J.A.R.V.I.S! Override!" She shouts, the noise growing louder again. "Shut it off J.A.R.V.I.S! Shut it off!"

"I am afraid my attempts will be futile Ma'am."

"Just keep trying!" She grits, abandoning all attempts to turn the wheel, and ducking behind the coils. She screws her eyes shut behind her safety glasses and presses the heels of her hands against her ears, trying and failing to block out the sound.

Tony's stomach turns and suddenly everything… is silent.

"J.A.R.V.I.S?"

* * *

" _How many did we win?"_

" _One."_

* * *

Fourteen million six hundred and five possibilities… fourteen million six hundred and fou _r losses._

The emerald bands around his wrists complete another turn and Stephen Strange makes his decision; Thanos and his children, they can _have_ this reality. He can have this team scattered and broken across the universe, he can snap his fingers and erase half of all life… but for as long as the Time Stone is suspended in the eye around his neck, Stephen will not allow just _one possibility_ , where they _win._

They've noticed him now, his power slipping and his head snapping roughly from left to right and he sees her; angry, disillusioned, _ruined_ by the war and heartbreak – even in the aftermath, in the _endgame_ … it won't be enough.

"Strange!"

"United we stand…" The stone flips, and the bands around his wrists break. "…divided, we _fall._ "

* * *

 **AN:** Fourteen million, six hundred and five possibilities and only one, where Doctor Stephen Strange intervenes at the beginning.

May 23rd 2019: Revisited to fix a few things.


	3. III - Consequence

**AN:** Any recognisable dialogue belongs exclusively to the Marvel Studios and Walt Disney Studios; Marvel Cinematic Universe

* * *

 **The Road to Hell (is Paved with Good Intentions)**

Tony Stark; genius, billionaire, philanthropist. Tony, because Howard wanted a son, Natasha, because Maria birthed a daughter instead.

* * *

 **Chapter III –** _Consequence_

* * *

It's jarring… the juxtaposition between blinding light and sudden darkness.

With one hand clutched to her throbbing head, Tony attempts to sit upright – and gasps as her chest constricts painfully. Gingerly, she tugs her singlet down; the Arc Reactor still glows, but the _high-tech crossword puzzle_ Rhodey pointed out, is spreading once more. The Lithium Dioxide _Agent Romanoff_ injected her with has faded and she knows she's sicker now than she ever was before.

"Fuck me." She groans. This, she had not calculated. She had been so certain that the creation of her Father's element would be successful and now she wishes she had the foresight to take another dose. "J.A.R. ?"

He doesn't answer.

Tony wonders what is more frightening – that she's out of J.A.R.V.I.S's range, or that she's without Lithium Dioxide _and_ her Father's element.

" _Get up Stark."_

She staggers to her feet and pitches forward as vertigo hits and nausea crashes over her like a wave. Ink coloured liquid splatters on her shoes, her body rejecting the last of the fluid J.A.R.V.I.S synthesised to combat the palladium poisoning. Leaning heavily against a nearby wall, Tony wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and prays for the world to stop spinning.

" _You won't die here."_

It doesn't.

Through the haze clouding her brain she tries to recognise the industrial area she's found herself in; the few signs she can see with her blurred eyes read in English, but the wide streets and the squat, dirty red-brick buildings are unfamiliar. It's all cracked glass and rusted metal finishes, peeling, faded posters and old-style light posts – a pristine nineteen forty-two Buick Special stops at the curb, and Tony wonders idly just how much effort was put into restoring it so beautifully.

"Miss?"

The accented voice catches her attention and Tony thinks she's lost the entirety of her mental faculties as she stares, open mouthed, at the man before her. "Am I dead?"

The man chuckles, and Tony blinks. "I do not believe so, though, in my professional opinion, you are quite possibly close."

Tony rubs her forehead – does she have a temperature? "This is one hell of a fever dream, but I'll bite." Weakly, she stands up straight, and offers a hand. "Tony Stark."

"Stark?" The man raises an eyebrow but accepts her hand nonetheless. "Any relation to young Howard?"

"Dear old Dad." She coughs throatily. "I suppose when you knew him he was quite the Casanova. God this is a trip." Tony murmurs trying to blink away the haze. "Y'know I did one of my Thesis's on you when I was a kid. Your mind…" She gestures a bit wildly, babbling. "You were a genius, no one has even come _close_ to recreating the serum and it's been what? Sixty years? Seventy?" Tony shrugs. "Dates have never been my strong suit."

"Miss _Stark_ … do amuse an old man for a moment and tell me, what year is it?"

" _Do not tell the truth."_

"Oh, Two Thousand and Ten." Tony mumbles, ignoring the voice in her aching head. "Y'know Abraham, can I call you Abraham? I don't feel too hot…" and the last thing her brilliant mind processes, is the pavement, rising swiftly to meet her.

* * *

" _The world has changed, and none of us can go back… all we can do is our best. And sometimes, the best we can do… is start over."_

* * *

She wakes again in an unfamiliarspace; cream walls with large black framed windows, and a bed as comfortable as any hospital trolley. An attempt to sit up reveals a needle in her arm and a bag full of clear liquid suspended on a makeshift hook – whatever the contents, she's thankful, for her mind is no longer clouded, though her pain is as present as ever.

"Who is she?" The voice, hushed but _achingly_ familiar, sounds close by and Tony feels like a child again, hiding in the corridor as her Father argues with her Godmother.

"I did not call you here because of who she claims to be, Margaret, I called you here because of what she told me." The man – Abraham, she thinks – whispers. "She knows about Project Rebirth."

" _How?_ " The woman hisses.

Tony sees Abraham shrug. "I could not say."

"Who did she claim to be Abraham?"

"She said her father was Howard Stark."

Tony tugs the needle from her arm and attempts, slower this time, to sit up. She succeeds and swings her legs over the edge of the small bed.

"Impossible." The woman dismisses. "Howard is twenty-six, she's at least that."

Tony hits the ground hard, her legs giving out beneath her. Groaning, she tries to pull herself back up and onto the bed, grinning sheepishly upon realising she's regained the attention of Doctor Erskine and his companion. The Doctor rushes forward, lifting her easily back onto the bed – she's exhausted and doesn't fight as he reinserts the needle into a vein.

"You look good Auntie." Tony grins sleepily at the gun-toting woman at the foot of the bed.

"I want the truth, and I want it now; Abraham might have his qualms about handing you over to Colonel Phillips, but rest assured I do not share his reservations."

The truth, is inexplicit – her sluggish mind can't fit the pieces together – _time travel is not possible_ and yet... before her stands Doctor Abraham Erskine, hale and healthy, and _Agent_ Margaret Carter, ruby-lipped and _young_. It's some kind of sick joke; she's dying of palladium poisoning, the recreation of her Father's element _failed_ and if she removes the Arc Reactor from her chest, it won't be the Palladium that will kill her, but the piece of _fucking_ shrapnel she should have got removed from her chest – Pepper had found a surgeon at the Metro-General Hospital in New York that could have done so, but she, in her infinite wisdom, had refused.

It goes against everything she'd thought certain about life – and wonders, just what will be the consequences of this? It's the butterfly affect in real time, the multiverse theory up close and she's frightened, because there's no precedent, no information known to her that can return her to the time she knows – this place, these people, her past... are now her future.

She doesn't want this life.

"May thirty-first, two thousand and ten." Tony shifts on the uncomfortable bed, and eyes her Godmother. Aunt Peggy is younger than she's ever seen her, less jaded, less… angry, at all the injustices in the world; this woman is _light_ , secure in her place at the Strategic Scientific Reserve, strong in the face of the second war in a generation. "I… no, the date doesn't matter. I'm _here_ , I don't know how, I don't know why, but I'm here and I can't return because again, I don't… I don't know how."

Agent Carter cocks the gun and Tony knows there's now a bullet in the chamber. "Return where?"

"My calculations were perfect, _Howard's_ calculations were perfect, I built a god damn particle accelerator in what was essentially my basement and it should have worked!" Agent Carter's spine straightens as Tony's voice rises. "The element should have worked, and I shouldn't be _here_ , but I am, and I'm telling the truth. Howard Stark is my Father. I am Natasha Stark and I am…" She swallows, "from the future."

"Impossible." Agent Carter breathes, and Tony mentally reassigns her as Aunt Peggy, when the gun aimed in her direction is lowered fractionally. "None of this can be true."

 _And yet it is_ , Tony thinks. Aunt Peggy wants, _needs_ proof, and she cannot blame her; but Tony didn't _plan_ , on coming here, she – she tugs her singlet down, revealing the Arc Reactor.

"What the hell is that?"

It's irrational, the tiny stab of hurt that blooms in her chest. This isn't her Auntie, not really; the woman that stands at the foot of her bed wears her face but doesn't bare her experiences. This Peggy hasn't raised a child, hasn't raised _Tony_ , this woman isn't the Godmother who kissed away the hurt Howard's detachment caused, isn't the Auntie who cheered at her graduation, isn't the _Peggy_ she knows. But oh God it's _her_ face that stares at the Arc Reactor in her chest with abject _horror_ and doesn't that just sting.

"It's," _my heart, my life-source, a generator for my armour that I'll never get to use again,_ "an electromagnet," _basically,_ "it uh, well, a few months ago, the convoy I was in was attacked and a Fragmentation Shell, that I designed by the way, exploded next to me. There's a piece of shrapnel in my heart and this," She taps the Arc Reactor in her chest, "keeps it from shredding my aorta."

Aunt Peggy holsters the gun and Tony feels the tightness in her chest ease slightly. Doctor Erskine rubs his chin, nodding into his hand. "The shrapnel in her heart would explain the severe metal poisoning."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Is that what this is?" She raises the arm with the needle inserted. "Treatment?"

"Ethylenediaminetetraacetic acid." Abraham explains softly. "EDTA."

"Chelation therapy?" Tony yanks the needle from her arm and claps a hand over the freely bleeding wound. "Are you insane? This stuff barely treats lead poisoning! Do you have any idea of the side effects? Huh? Severe dehydration, hypocalcaemia, kidney failure, not to mention a whole _list_ of neurodevelopmental disorders and y'know, _death!_ And that's just the list sixty years from now! Jesus _Christ_."

Abraham shakes his head. "Ah, well, EDTA is relatively _new._ " Gauze in hand, he shuffles around the bed, and with practiced ease, secures it over the hole in her arm. "This should stem the bleeding, but side effects or not Miss… _Stark_ , unless you have another treatment in mind, I'm afraid this is the best we have."

Tony glares at the gauze. "Then until I can synthesise something better, I guess this will have to do."

Abraham looks unconvinced and Tony can hardly blame him as she's mighty unconvinced herself. She wants a cure, not a band-aid; but it seems, here, a band-aid is all she's going to get.

"Miss Stark," Aunt Peggy speaks up again, her gun holstered. "Abraham mentioned that you know of Project Rebirth, if you are truly who you say you are, then you must tell us… is it a success?"

The chaos theory springs to mind, and Tony shuts her mouth. Logically, she knows, simply by existing in this time, that the past she's learnt of, has surely changed – _unless_ this is a causal loop, and she was always _meant_ to end up in this time... _someone up there sure does have a sense of humour_ , she thinks. God her head hurts. "What year is it? What's the date?"

"May twenty-ninth, nineteen forty-three."

"It's my birthday." Tony says dumbly. "Kind of." She amends. "Uh, we win."

"What?"

"The war." Tony elaborates easily. "We win it… but I'm sorry, not for another two years."

Aunt Peggy seems to _sag,_ and Tony thinks she's never seen anyone so relieved. " _We win_." Peggy repeats, joyously, breathlessly, _happy_ simply because of the little information Tony has provided… and then the happiness fades, replaced with _fear_. "What you know, you cannot tell anyone outside of this room, do you understand?"

Tony stares at her blankly but Peggy does not take her silence as an answer.

"Do you understand?"

"I- yes." Tony agrees but wonders nonetheless; just who would she tell?

"Whether you are telling the truth Miss Stark, or this is all just some fevered delusion I do not know but I cannot deny that you feel… _familiar_." Peggy states matter-of-factly. "I'm inclined to trust you Miss Stark. I do hope you will not make me regret this."

"Natasha." She blurts. "My name is Natasha. You've always called me Natasha, even when I insisted you call me Tony."

"Natasha." Peggy nods, and sits gracefully in a chair Abraham has brought into the room. "We will need to come up with a back story for you. Nothing foreign, your accent is too obviously American." Peggy murmurs. "Your look will be a problem, the hair and the eyes are so obviously Howard, I don't know how I didn't notice it before."

Tony doesn't want to say that perhaps her Auntie simply hadn't been looking. "My Grandfather, Anthony had a brother, Walter Stark. I don't know much about him, only that he was killed in the First World War, not long after my Father was born."

Peggy hums. "Abraham, you need an assistant do you not?"

Abraham's eyes sparkle genially, and he nods. "What say you Miss Stark?"

Tony gapes, hardly noticing as Peggy stands and slips from the room. "I'd be honoured. Truly." She adds, when she's unsure if he actually believes her. "I, what you did with Project Rebirth was, _is_ , incredible."

Abraham pats her leg and offers her a smile. "You mentioned when I found you, that you wrote a thesis on me?"

Tony moves her hand in a so-so motion. "I did write a Thesis on Biochemical Engineering, just to see if I could reverse engineer the Serum. I couldn't by the way." She states when he raises a bushy eyebrow. "Even if I had, I couldn't have ever published it, so I ended up scrapping it and just getting my double Masters."

"Double Masters?"

"Electrical Engineering and Mathematics. Graduated top of my class from M.I.T, _and_ I did it at seventeen." She grins. "Auntie was so proud."

The Professor nods. "I will not say I am particularly in need of an assistant like young Margaret suggested, but I would be delighted to have you work alongside me. You must understand however; I will need you to be an allrounder. There will be days where I simply need a nurse, others, a research assistant, others, a scribe, can you do this?"

Tony agrees easily. Truly, she thinks she would have agreed to anything to remain with _who_ she's at least abstractly familiar with. She was a War Dog for years, creating, designing, _perfecting_ the most flawless of weapons for America to drop upon their enemies, and it's only since becoming Iron Woman, that's she's truly understood the cost of doing so. Mothers, Fathers, Sons, Daughters, _families –_ it's somewhat ironic now, that she'll have a hand in creating the first and _only_ Super Soldier; a man intended to be America's greatest weapon. She's spent _years_ loathing Captain America and everything he represented to her Father, and now, she'll be working alongside the men who created him. Abraham seems to accept her answer, for Tony finds herself deeply engaged with the scientist as he easily jumps from topic to topic, marvelling at the magnitude of the scientific discoveries that are made in the future.

She only notices that time has passed when the sky outside the black-framed windows darkens, and Peggy slips back into the room with three brown files tucked beneath her arm. Seating herself gracefully and holding them primly in her lap, Peggy opens the first. "Walter Edward Stark, born eighteen eighty-nine; he was twenty-eight when America entered the war, and in early August of nineteen seventeen he was pronounced killed in action. His wife, Sharon Stark, died in nineteen fifteen, in the birthing suite. The infant she was carrying did not live past a few days." Peggy pauses in her debrief. "It is here we have the opportunity."

"You want me to pose as the dead infant of my great uncle." Tony states warily.

"It is far easier than you would believe to change a detail such as this." Peggy plucks the third from the stack and hands it to Tony, who opens it curiously. It's not much by any means, a birth certificate, with Sharon and Walter Stark listed in the relevant sections, a single yes scrawled next to legitimate, and a tick next to born alive – a school transcript with glowing comments despite her 'poor circumstances' and a nursing certificate stamped with the Strategic Science Reserve logo. "All that needs to be added is a name and photograph."

"I'm an orphan." Tony murmurs, leafing through the few pages. She's been an orphan for fourteen-years now, she thinks, it shouldn't be so shocking. "You kept my birthday?"

"Yes." Peggy nods and slips the birth certificate from the file in Tony's hands. "I have found that wrapping a lie in a truth… well, it is far simpler."

Tony nods absently, she's twenty-eight again. "Antoinette."

"Pardon me?"

"You said I needed a name. Antoinette Stark." Tony supplies. "It can be shortened to either Ann or Tony; I would prefer the latter."

Peggy consents and in the same looping hand as the rest of the words on her new birth certificate, adds Tony's middle name as her first. "Middle name?"

"Margaret." Tony provides instantly, ignoring this Peggy's surprise and shoving down the wave of longing she has for her precious Auntie.

"You are now officially Antoinette Margaret Stark." Peggy smiles easily, taking the folder back from Tony, and tucking the birth certificate inside. "I will ensure that you are assigned to work with Abraham or myself at all times, you understand however that this will require you to eventually travel to the front line with us?"

"Yes." She answers, despite somewhat dreading the possibility.

If Peggy notices her discomfort, she doesn't comment. "I must return to the S.S.R, if I am gone for much longer, Colonel Phillips might just decide I'm of no more use to him. We will organise an apartment for you soon, Antoinette, but for now, I hope you are not opposed to staying with Abraham?" Tony shakes her head, and Peggy nods again. "And _Tony_? Happy birthday."

It's not like any of the birthday wishes she's received from her Auntie in her lifetime, but it's _more_ , than she expected. "Thank you." She whispers.

* * *

" _Whatever happens tomorrow you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man."_

* * *

Nineteen forty-three is… _interesting_. She is respected, though only because she works alongside a man in a job traditionally held by a woman, she is coveted, by the men signing their lives away to fight their country's war, though only for her beauty because an intelligent mind is not something a woman of good standing should have. Sexism is ripe, she's discovered, and remarkably, she finds it somewhat comforting, for it's nothing she hasn't faced in her own time. Howard's untimely death meant she was thrust into the C.E.O position far earlier than was expected, instantly becoming the youngest _female_ weapon's dealer in American History... and didn't that just cause an uproar. Obadiah's sexism was well hidden, but she learnt, _painfully_ , just how much he chafed under the leadership of a woman barely out of girlhood. She knows sexism, she knows that if she was born _Anthony,_ the drinking, the partying, the sleeping around would all be excused on the basis of the dick between his legs; but Natasha isn't Anthony and she doesn't get a pardon from the world when she drinks and parties and sleeps around.

Tony finds it to some extent paradoxical, that they've set up a United States Armed Services recruitment division at the World Exposition of Tomorrow; after all, World War Two created a whole generation of War Dogs, who in turn, funded a generation of wars. The atmosphere is confused, a coarse mixture of levity and fear, but the recruitment pavilion is busy, men wandering in and out and the list of people the SSR have selected is growing longer. Dressed in a similar uniform to Peggy, Tony remains at Abraham's side, just as she's done in the days since arriving here and has found herself incredibly thankful for the Doctor's continued kindness.

"This isn't a back alley, Steve. It's war!"

The corridor is crowded, but when Abraham slows, watching a pair of arguing men, she pauses beside him, and raises a questioning eyebrow. He holds up a hand, and she turns to face him, allowing him a subtle, but unrestricted view over her shoulder.

"I know it's a war. You don't have to tell me."

"Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs!"

"What am I gonna do? Collect scrap metal…

"Yes!

"…in my little red wagon."

"Why not?"

"I'm not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky."

"I don't…"

"Bucky! Come on." Tony barely resists the urge to turn around; the name Steve is easy to ignore, Bucky, however, is not. She knows his story too – the only Howling Commando to give his life for the cause. "There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them." She studies Abraham's expression; he's incredibly hard to read beneath the stoic exterior, but she knows nonetheless that _Steve Rogers_ has caught his attention. " _That's_ what you don't understand. This isn't about me."

"Right." _Bucky_ sounds sceptical. "Cause, you've got nothing to prove."

"Hey, Sarge! Are we going dancing?"

Tony risks a glance over her shoulder. She notices the obvious immediately; Barnes towers over Rogers, who seems like it would take nothing more than a strong breeze to knock him off his feet.

"Yes, we are." Barnes calls to the waving girl, and Tony takes a moment to admire the cut of the dress uniform across his shoulders. "Don't do anything stupid until I get back." Barnes walks towards the girl, and Tony's eyes dip lower.

"How can I?" Rogers calls, "you're taking all the stupid with you."

Barnes stops. "You're a punk." He says loudly and turns back, sweeping Rogers into a tight hug.

"Jerk. Be careful." Rogers orders, and Tony thinks he looks incredibly small, standing there with his hands in his pockets, watching his friend walk away. "Don't win the war till I get there!"

Barnes salutes, and Tony slips her hand in the crook of Abraham's elbow, offering him a tense smile. "Potential candidate?" She questions as Rogers ambles past them.

"Perhaps." The Doctor agrees, but Tony knows Steve Rogers will be the only name Abraham adds to the SSR's list. "I would like you to take his consultation Antoinette."

Tony inclines her head in acquiesce to his request, despite her mixed feelings on the subject. It is easier, she thinks, to hate a myth, than a man. Her… _animosity_ , towards Rogers and the mantle of Captain America is unhealthy, this she is well aware of, and logically, she knows it was her father's inability to afford her the same adoration that he held for a dead man, that caused her festering resentment.

Rogers is already in a makeshift examination room when she catches up to him and he jumps as she pushes the curtain aside and steps into the room, exchanging places with the Doctor. Glancing down at the clipboard she's been handed, Tony studies the information there; the doctor has handwritten a recommendation in the margins, 4F, ineligible for service. Tony offers Rogers a strained smile, and he blushes, ducking his head. "Hello." She greets. "Steven Rogers?"

"Uh, yes Ma'am, but I prefer Steve if that's not too much trouble."

"Antoinette Stark." Tony introduces herself. "You're a long way from Ohio, Mister Rogers."

He looks nervous, incredibly so, and she wonders how it is he hasn't been arrested yet. "I came for the fair Ma'am."

Tony allows herself a small grin. "I'm sure you did Mister Rogers." She eyes the Doctor's notes; high blood pressure, heart murmur, scoliosis, probable asthma and anaemia – his laundry list of defects is longer than her own and these are only the ones the Doctor has discovered in the current examination. "Your mother was a Nurse in the Tuberculosis Ward and your Father… was a solider?" She raises a brow – that, she didn't know.

"Yes Ma'am. He served in the Hundred and Seventh Infantry."

"Would I be wrong to assume that is the unit you wish to be assigned to?" Tony asks.

"No Ma'am."

Tony nods absently as the curtain is pulled open.

"So," Abraham states, handing Tony four additional files. "You want to go overseas. Kill some Nazis."

Rogers looks between them, confused. "Excuse me?"

"Doctor Abraham Erskine." He holds out a hand, and Steve accepts it nervously. "I represent the Strategic Scientific Reserve."

"Steve Rogers."

"And you have, of course, already met Miss Stark."

"Where are you from?" Rogers blurts, and Tony shakes her head. _Rude_ , she thinks.

"Queens." Abraham answers easily. "Seventy-third Street and Utopia Parkway. Before that, Germany." He waves a hand. "This troubles you?"

Rogers shakes his head. "No."

Tony flips through the new files, each stamped with a red 4F. "Where are you from, Mister Rogers? Hmm? Is it New Haven? Or Paramus?" Abraham tsks. "Five exams in five different cities."

Rogers looks nervous again. "Those might not be the right files."

"No, it's not the exams I'm interested in, it's the five tries." Abraham gestures to the files Tony has spread across the tabletop. "But you didn't answer my question. Do you want to kill Nazis?"

"Is this a test?"

"Yes."

Rogers looks uneasy, but shakes his head nonetheless. "I don't wanna kill anyone. I don't like bullies. I don't care where they're from."

Abraham glances to her and Tony can see how impressed he is with the answer. She fights the urge to roll her eyes, he's just so… _innocent_. So _good_. "Well, there are already so many big men fighting this war. Maybe what we need now is the little guy, huh? I can offer you a chance."

Rogers seems to swell, happiness filling his every pore as Abraham offers him the opportunity he's been grasping for. Pushing the thin curtain aside, Abraham lays the medical file Tony has complied on the reception desk in the waiting room.

" _Only_ a chance." Abraham cautions.

"I'll take it!" Rogers assures quickly.

"Good. So where is the little guy from, actually?"

Rogers smiles, and Tony blinks. It's almost... _pretty._ "Brooklyn."

"Congratulations." Abraham states, stamping the file in black ink this time. "Soldier."

Rogers opens the file he's been handed, his expression blooming into wonderment as he stares down at his _correct_ medical history and personal information, emblazoned with a black 1A. "Thank you." He whispers as Abraham leaves. "Thank you."

Tony retrieves the folder from his hands and tucks it into Abraham's briefcase. Playing assistant is rather novel she decides, but then, Abraham is rather easy to get along with; she can't imagine how Pepper dealt with _her_ for so many years. "Are your affairs in order Mister Rogers?"

Eagerly, he nods. "Yes Ma'am."

"Good. You will report to Camp Lehigh for training, at oh-six hundred hours." He seems confused and she elaborates. "Six AM tomorrow Rogers."

"Even with my medical history, you're still giving me a chance." He states.

" _I_ am not giving you anything." Tony answers easily, ignoring the drop in his expression that makes her feel like she's kicked a puppy. "Be thankful Rogers, that my input was not asked for nor required. Abraham's list is short, but you've nonetheless made the cut. It is him you'll have to thank if you make it through training."

Rogers seems to stare through her as he contemplates the information she's given him. "Wait!" He calls, after Tony has slipped her arms into her coat and left him standing alone outside the examination room. "Doctor Erskine's list, can I ask, how many names are on it?"

Tony eyes him as he wheezes, even the short run to catch her up too much and decides to throw him a bone. "One."

* * *

 **AN:** Welcome, to nineteen forty-three. Tony's arrived in the past, and we've had four major players make their first appearances.

Thank you to everyone who's followed, favourited and reviewed, I'm glad y'all like it!

May 23rd 2019: Revisited to fix a few things.


	4. IV - Beginning

**AN:** Any recognisable dialogue belongs exclusively to the Marvel Studios and Walt Disney Studios; Marvel Cinematic Universe

* * *

 **The Road to Hell (is Paved with Good Intentions)**

Tony Stark; genius, billionaire, philanthropist. Tony, because Howard wanted a son, Natasha, because Maria birthed a daughter instead. [Earth 3490/Time Travel AU]

* * *

 **Chapter IV –** _Beginning_

* * *

Camp Lehigh is worn.

Tony notices its age in the faded red-brick of the buildings, in the paint just beginning to peel from the wooden fixtures, in the rust spreading up the flag pole, in the faded white and green wallpaper in the Infirmary.

She shifts on the cot, the catheter in her arm becoming increasingly uncomfortable – the Infirmary is antiquated, despite the equipment being shining and new, and her fingers itch to pull apart the mechanisms and jerry-rig them into something _better_. Abraham, with a smile that implored her to _behave_ had sequestered her here upon their arrival in the early hours of the morning, with a stack of coded notes on Project Rebirth and instructions to remain put, until the last of the EDTA solution had emptied from the glass container above her head.

She eyes the container balefully – there's something ironic, in that in order to lower the palladium levels in her blood, she's pumping a different kind of poison into her veins. Somewhere, in her head, in the notes that Abraham gave her, is the answers she needs… to _solve the riddle of her heart._

Tony tugs the needle from her arm and awkwardly covers the pinprick hole in the crook of her arm with her thumb – it's close enough, she thinks, eyeing the glass container, the measurements on side proclaiming there's less than thirty millilitres of the solution left.

"What, do you think you're doing?"

Caught, Tony blushes. " _Auntie_ , I was just coming to find you."

Peggy raises an eyebrow. "Indeed?" She asks, plucking a band-aid from the nearby Nurse's station, she removes the wrapper and nudges Tony's thumb aside. "You should call me Peggy." She says gently. "Auntie is a little hard to explain, don't you think?"

Tony runs her fingers along the edge of the band-aid and nods, pulling her sleeve down. "Right. Peggy." She gathers Abraham's notes, slipping them carefully into the leather messenger bag she'd borrowed from him and pulls on the brown SSR uniform jacket, that Auntie – _Peggy,_ she reminds herself, had provided her. "Any reason you are here?" She asks bluntly.

"Yes," Peggy nods, smoothing her skirt, "I thought perhaps you would like to observe the new recruits."

"It's what I'm here for isn't it?" She asks sardonically – what else, will she do, sixty years in the past? Find her Father? _Not likely_ , she scoffs internally.

Peggy hums lightly, and Tony is struck by just how _young_ she is – twenty-two, if her math is correct, and it always is. "Indeed."

It's uncomfortable, Tony thinks, being in the company of the woman who wears her Auntie's face but is decades too young to know her – she doesn't fithere. It's been less than a month she's lived in this time and while she's _trying_ to accept that this might just be her life now, there's a large, a _too_ large part of her that doubts she ever will. She can feel Peggy's eyes on her; she raises her chin, straightens her back and sets her shoulders – _never give them an inch_.

"You're doing well." Peggy compliments quietly, as they approach the grassed oval where the new recruits stand in formation – Tony's eyes find him immediately. He sticks out like a sore thumb, a good foot shorter than the rest, and half as wide, he looks almost like a child, that has stolen onto the base to fight in a war that is not his to fight. "I can't say I understand how you feel, Tony, to be trapped in a place that is not… _yours_... but I do know what it is like, to be a woman standing in the place of a man and thriving."

Tony smiles tiredly. "You taught me to know my value, taught me that as long as _I_ _know_ just how brilliant I am, anyone else's opinion doesn't really matter – it's a mentality that's served me well, on countless occasions."

Peggy glances at her, and Tony thinks she looks almost _proud_. "It's going to be you, isn't it," she begins fondly, "my greatest achievement."

Tony scoffs, falling into step behind her as they reach the line of soon-to-be soldiers – _'what is and will always be, my greatest creation… is you.'_ "Hardly." She voices softly.

"Recruits, attention!" Peggy calls authoritatively – and Tony's almost glad she didn't hear. "Gentlemen, I'm Agent Carter, I supervise all operations for this division. Behind me is Nurse Stark, she, along with Doctor Erskine, will be evaluating you throughout your training."

"What's with the accent, Queen Victoria?" Tony eyes the recruit – he's tall, physically fit, the kind of man the S.S.R had added to the list of potential super soldiers without understanding the fundamental changes that would be made. _Good, becomes great. Bad… becomes worse._ "I thought I was signing up for the U.S Army."

"What's your name, soldier?"

"Gilmore Hodge, your Majesty."

"Step forward Hodge." Peggy orders. "Put your right foot forward."

"Ooh, we gonna wrassle? Cause I got a few moves I _know_ you'd like." He leers, winks, and falls to the dirt – Peggy rubs her knuckles, glancing over her shoulder.

Tony meets her eyes with a grin. " _Nice_."

"Agent Carter!"

Peggy turns, snapping into a respectful salute as the car bearing the Colonel stops. "Colonel Phillips." She says lightly.

"I see you're breaking in the new recruits." He nods approvingly as he walks closer. "Good." He spares a glance at the man attempting to stem the blood leaking from his nose. "Get your ass up out of that dirt and stand in that line at attention 'til somebody comes tells you what to do."

Hodge picks himself up. "Yes Sir."

"General Patton has said that wars are fought with weapons, but they are won by men. We are going to win this war because we have the best..." Tony knows the instant the Colonel has spied Steve, entirely too small alongside the other recruits, "men… And because they're gonna get better. _Much_ better. The Strategic Scientific Reserve is an Allied effort made up of the best minds in the free world. Our goal is to create the best army in history." He stares down each recruit and Tony wonders if he can assess their worth, with just a single glance. "But every army starts with one man. At the end of this week we will choose that man. He will be the first in a new breed of super-soldiers and they, will personally escort Adolf Hitler to the gates of Hell."

Peggy steps forward. "In the barracks behind me, you will each have a bunk assigned to you. Cherish the sleep you receive here, for you won't have accommodation this lovely on the front. This coming week you will be put through basic training – do not think that it is only your physical fitness you will be assessed upon." She gestures toward Tony. "Throughout your training, Doctor Erskine and Nurse Stark will be completing further medical assessments as well as psychological evaluations. If you do not consent to either of these appraisals, please speak up now, but know that you will no longer be considered by the S.S.R as a viable candidate for Project Rebirth."

"Find your bunks. Your training begins at oh eight hundred hours." Peggy informs them. "Dismissed."

* * *

" _Rogers! Get that rifle up out of the mud!"_

* * *

Tony shakes her head as she watches him gingerly tug at the uniform white shirt up and over his shoulders. He's only three days into basic training, and his skin is a myriad of colours, angry red, purple, black and dark blue – each bruise is in a different stage of healing, but she remembers all too well the pain of being covered head to toe in welts such as these.

"My God." She murmurs. "Did you go through a meat grinder?"

"No Ma'am." He grins happily. "Only basic training."

She looks down at him – there's a kind of giddy joy in his eyes; he truly doesn't care about the bruises, only that he is _finally_ going through the training he's fought so long to be accepted into. Tony blinks – he's... _captivating._ "There's not much we can do to treat these." She says, shaking her head. Dear God, she's an idiot. "An ice bath perhaps?" Tony asks over her shoulder, and Abraham shakes his head.

"I do not think it will be necessary." He answers, readying a needle to take a sample of Steve's blood.

Tony nods. It won't be really; he'll be undertaking the transformation into _Captain America_ at the end of the week – confirmed by Colonel Phillips or not. "Do try not to gain anymore." She advises him, despite knowing he'll end up doing exactly that.

He offers her a sweet smile, and to her horror, she feels heat rise on her cheeks. "I'll try not to Ma'am."

* * *

" _You'd be ineligible on your asthma alone."_

 _"Is there anything you can do?"_

 _"I'm doing it. I'm saving your life."_

* * *

"It's not long enough." Tony says softly to Peggy, leaning forward from the backseat of the truck as they watch the retinue of cadets jog closer.

"No." Peggy agrees, looking to her. "It's not."

"How many lives would be saved," Tony asks, "with more training? With more time?"

Peggy sighs – it's a bitter sounding thing, the truth of the matter hard to bear. "Not as many as we would lose waiting."

It strikes Tony then; she's living in a graveyard, surrounded by dead men. Those not killed in the War, on the front lines or behind them, those who lived, would still most likely be dead in her time.

"Pick up the pace, ladies! Let's go! Double time! Come on! Faster! Faster! Move! Move!" She watches the recruits until they reach the flag pole and Sergeant Duffy raises his arm. "Squad, halt! That flag means we're only at the halfway point. First man to bring it to me gets a ride back with Agent Carter and Nurse Stark. Move, move!"

The recruits scramble, "Come on! Get up there!" they shout, and jump over one and other, desperate to reach the flag. Tony eyes the pole itself – it's a basic design, still common in her time at most underfunded public schools; all that needs to be done to retrieve the flag is pull the pin at the base.

 **"** If that's all you got, this army's in trouble! Get up there, Hodge! Come on! Get up there! Nobody's got that flag in 17 years!" Sergeant Duffy watches the recruits fail until his patience wanes. "Now fall back into line! Come on, fall in! Let's go! Get back into formation!"

"Rogers!" Duffy shouts. "I said fall in!"

The flag-pole falls, and Tony feels a grin tug at her lips as she watches Steve drop the pin at the base and collect the flag – Sergeant Duffy accepts the flag dumbly, unsure how to react as Steve climbs into the backseat beside her.

"Thank you, sir." Steve calls over his shoulder, and Tony snorts.

"Odd choice." She says lightly, as they begin the drive back to the barracks. "Joining the Army when you can't follow orders."

"I can follow orders Ma'am." He utters softly but is unable to look her in the eye. He's struggling to catch his breath – _he's an asthmatic_ , she recalls suddenly. There's no such invention as an inhaler in this time; it's an injection of epinephrine or aminophylline tablet… she has neither. Her knowledge of medicine is purely theoretical, a combination of late nights in her lab trying to find a cure, and the days of frantic studying she'd done of the medical texts lining Abraham's bookshelves in New York when she'd realised her cover called for a working knowledge at the very least.

"Sit upright." She orders him, lightly pushing his shoulder back into the seat when he reflexively leans forward. "Slow, deep breaths." He complies and she nods. "That's right Rogers, can't have you dying on us yet."

"I should wait about a week, right?" He asks when his breathing returns to normal. "Dying in America... how _embarrassing."_

Tony coughs, a shocked laugh falling from her lips – of all the stories she'd been told of Captain America in her youth, no one, _not one_ of them, had told her he was _funny_. It burns, somewhere deep down, that she could quite possibly, end up liking _Captain America_.

* * *

" _You got a family?"_

" _Yes, and I will see them when I leave here. And you, Stark?"_

" _No."_

" _So, you're a woman who has everything... and nothing."_

* * *

"Faster, ladies! Come on." Tony flicks her eyes across the yard, Peggy's voice commanding a swift response as she presides over the recruits at her feet. "My grandmother has more life in her, God rest her soul. Move it!"

"You're not really thinking about picking Rogers, are you?"

Tony shares a glance with Abraham. "I am more than just thinking about it." He tells Colonel Phillips. "He is the clear choice."

"When you brought a ninety-pound asthmatic onto my army base, I let it slide. I thought, what the hell? Maybe he'll be useful to you, like a gerbil. I never thought you'd pick him!"

"Up." Peggy orders the recruits, who jump to stand at attention.

"You stick a needle in that kids arm and it's gonna go right through him." Colonel Phillips continues.

Steve is red-faced and flushed, his star-jumps sloppy and his breathing laboured – he's going to have another asthma attack if he's not careful, she thinks despairingly.

"Come on, girls." Peggy sighs – there's an edge of disappointment to her voice, as though each and every one of them had let her down in some way. Tony hates that tone; it's remembered failures, whispered, ' _I'm sorry I let you down Auntie'_ s', and that _look_ in Peggy's eyes that made her feel _oh so_ _guilty_.

"Look at that. He's making me cry."

Abraham shakes his head. "I am looking for qualities beyond the physical."

"Do you know how long it took to set up this project?"

"Yeah, I know."

"All the grovelling I had to do in front of Senator what's-is-name's committees?"

"Brandt." Abraham supplies easily. "Yes, I know. I am well aware of your efforts."

Colonel Phillips gives him a hard stare. "Then throw me a bone. Hodge passed every test we gave him. He's big, he's fast, he obeys orders. He's a soldier."

"He's a bully." Tony says easily, inserting herself into the conversation. Abraham nods, even as Colonel Phillips regards her coolly.

"Antoinette is correct. Hodge is mean, conceited and too self-interested. He is not right, Chester."

"You don't win wars with niceness, Doctor." Colonel Phillips growls, picking up a dummy grenade, and releasing the pin. "You win wars with guts." He lobs it toward the unsuspecting recruits. "Grenade!"

It happens, in stages. Hodge notices first; "Move, move, move!" He shouts, leaping out of the way, the majority of the recruits following his lead.

Peggy notices second, and dashes forward – but is beaten by Steve, who dives toward the grenade and covers it with his body. "Get away!" He yells, "get back!"

The yard stops, waiting for an explosion that doesn't come. "It was a dummy grenade." A voice declares. "All clear."

Peggy takes a breath to steady her nerves. "Back in formation." She orders.

Steve sits up, confusion is etched across his features – Tony watches Colonel Phillips deflate. "Is this a test?"

"He's still skinny." Chester Phillips states petulantly.

She doesn't bother to curb her laughter at the Colonel's sulk – of all the objections to Steve, it's not the murmur in his heart, the scoliosis that curves his spine, his sky-high blood pressure or the asthma that constricts his lungs, it's that he's _skinny_.

Abraham smiles, and pats the leaving Colonel on his shoulder, before offering her his arm. "Walk with me Miss Stark?"

Tony slips her hand into the crook of his arm.

"I have worked on this serum for many years." Abraham begins softly, leading her past Peggy and the recruits, toward the running track that loops around the edge of the base. There's a crisp kind of freshness on the air and though the sun shines, it's cold enough to raise goosebumps on Tony's arms. "I am relieved you arrived here when you did Antoinette, it does this old man good, to know he will not fail again."

"You make a difference Abraham." Tony replies. " _Steve_ , makes a difference; this coming November alone he saves hundreds of men trapped behind enemy lines."

Abraham smiles. "He is a good man."

"The serum will make him great." Tony reaffirms quietly, lost in thought. It's hard to reconcile the two; the tarnished image of Captain America, the hero who's shadow she could never escape and Steve, who's unassuming and funny and _so unerringly kind_. She had spent years, fighting a dead man for a place in her Father's heart, hating _him, cursing him, blaming him_ because she couldn't hate her Father.

Perhaps she should have. She should have done a lot of things.

"I should have died." She whispers into the silence. "I should have died in Afghanistan. A bomb exploded next to me and I… _survived_. I've been living on borrowed time for almost a year Abraham. Every round of EDTA – I feel worse, not better. I'm poisoning my liver, my kidneys, my _mind_ to counteract the poisoning in my blood… and _it's not working_."

"You must give it time." Abraham consoles her, but it's empty, for he knows as well as she.

"I don't have time, I'm _dying_." She exclaims – Tony hasn't voiced it, the wild, desperate idea reading through his notes gave her… but she does now. "Your serum is designed to enhance the human body. Every ailment, every illness, every disability Steve Rogers has, is cured by this serum – I won't kid myself into thinking I am worthy, Abraham, I am not a good person, nor will the serum make _me_ great… but it might save my life."

He pats her hand, and Tony almost feels hopeful. "It might… but it might not. You must understand Tony, the serum on its own is not enough."

"Why?" She cries, freeing her hand and spinning away from him.

"Antoinette…"

"Natasha." She tells him fiercely, hand over the Arc Reactor that's covered by her shirt. "My name is _Natasha_. I'm not Antoinette. I graduated _summa cum laude_ from Massachusetts Institute of Technology, I created the Iron Woman suit, _I fucking privatised world peace_ and I am dying! Save my life." Tony begs, close to tears. "Save my life."

"Natasha." Abraham sighs, and takes her hands in his own. "The serum in conjunction with the vita-radiation, is the catalyst for chemical change within the body. I will not risk your life, in doing this wrong."

"But it is the serum itself that enhances the body, correct?" Tony presses, squeezing his hands. "It's the serum that can cure a heart murmur, straighten a spine, lower blood pressure and cure damaged lungs. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Natasha… Tony–"

"I'm _right_." She tells him, "tell me I'm right."

"In _theory_." He answers begrudgingly.

"No," Tony shakes her head, " _not_ in theory, in practice. This succeeds Abraham. Steve becomes the first super solider–"

"He is not the first." Abraham says angrily – and Tony understands. He's frightened... it's not enough to know he succeeds, despite his words otherwise – he needs proof.

"No." Tony replies. "But he will be the first good man, is that not enough?"

"It is not enough to let me risk your life."

Tony takes his hands – she doesn't want to die here. "It's enough for me."

* * *

" _You stood by my side all these years while I reaped the benefits of destruction. Now that I'm trying to protect the people I've put in harm's way; you're going to walk out?"_

" _You're going to kill yourself, Tony. I'm not going to be a part of it."_

" _I shouldn't be alive... unless it was for a reason. I'm not crazy, Pepper. I just finally know what I have to do. And I know in my heart that it's right."_

* * *

"May we?" Abraham asks, knocking on the door to the barracks.

Steve hastily gets to his feet, dropping the novel he was reading beside him. "Yeah," He says with a nervous smile, "come in, uh, take a seat."

Tony offers him a strained nod, and dips to sit on the mattress beside him – she's not sure why she came. Perhaps it was the lure of the alcohol, the bottle of Schnapps Abraham offered too tempting to pass up. Perhaps it's the part of her, clawing at the walls of the pit she buried her in, that knows it's the desire to see _this_ Steve, one more time, before her mental gymnastics can no longer separate him from Captain America.

"Can't sleep?"

"I got the jitters, I guess."

Abraham laughs, and unfolds the mattress opposite Steve's bunk – the barracks are empty now and Steve seems smaller than ever in the too large room. "Me, too."

"Can I ask you a question?" He asks Abraham.

"Just one?" The Doctor teases.

"Why me?"

 _Why not me_. The thought comes, unbidden and bitter. It isn't Abraham's duty to save her, she reminds herself, just as it wasn't Yinsen's, or Rhodey's, or Pepper's. She built the Mark I in a cave from pieces pulled from scrap metal and Jericho Missiles, she miniaturised the Arc Reactor, installed it in her chest and has saved _countless_ livesasIronWoman _… b_ _ut_ she can't save herself.

She's supposed to be the hero of her story… she doesn't want to die a footnote in someone else's.

"I suppose that is the only question that matters." Abraham glances down at the bottle in his right hand. "This is from Augsburg. My city… so many people forget that the first country that the Nazi's invaded was their own. You know, after the last war the… my people struggled. They, they felt weak, they felt small. And then Hitler comes along with the marching and the big show and the flags and the… and the…" Abraham gestures with his hand, trying and failing to find the right words. He sighs. "And he… he hears of me, of my work and he finds me. And he says, 'You.' He says, 'You will make us strong.' Well, I am not interested."

Abraham sets the bottle on the ground. "So, he sends the head of HYDRA, his research division. A brilliant scientist by the name of Johann Schmidt. Now, Schmidt is a member of the inner circle and he's ambitious. He and Hitler share a passion for occult power and Teutonic myth. Hitler uses his fantasies to inspire his followers. But for Schmidt, it is not fantasy. For him, it is real. He has become convinced that there is a great power hidden in the earth, left here by the Gods, waiting to be seized by a superior man. So when he hears about my formula and what it can do, he cannot resist. Schmidt must become that superior man."

"Did it make him stronger?" Steve asks quietly.

"Yeah, but… there were other effects. The serum was not ready. But more important, the man. The serum amplifies everything that is inside. So, good becomes great." Abraham attempts to catch her eye, but Tony can't bear to meet his gaze – she knows she's not _worthy_ , knows she's not _good... knows she's not enough._ She doesn't want to see the pity in his eyes. "Bad becomes worse. This is why you were chosen. Because a strong man, who has known power all his life, will lose respect for that power… but a weak man knows the value of strength and knows compassion."

Steve smiles, "Thanks. I think."

Abraham nods, and picks up the bottle. "Whatever happens tomorrow," He begins, pouring into the glasses Tony holds, "you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man."

"To the little guys." Steve answers, raising his glass to his lips, only for Abraham to reach out.

"No! No! Wait! Wait! What I am doing? No!" He takes Steve's glass and pours the finger of liquid into his own. "You have a procedure tomorrow. No fluids."

Steve shakes his head, an easy smile gracing his lips. "All right. We'll drink it after."

"No, I don't have a procedure tomorrow. Drink it after? Drink it now." Abraham grumbles, downing the liquid easily – Tony follows. It burns, in a familiar kind of way that sets her at ease. It's not Scotch, but it'll do.

She holds out her glass, but Abraham hesitates. Her fingers itch to snatch the bottle from his hands and drown herself at the bottom of it. "Antoinette..."

Tony scowls, and reaches for the bottle – Abraham holds it out of reach. "Call me Antoinette one more time old man, I swear to God–"

He acquiesces, pouring her another finger reluctantly. "Tony." He says her name like a warning and she stops, glass to her lips – he reminds her of Edwin.

She murmurs an apology around the rim of the glass, but downs it nonetheless – what's alcoholism going to do to her now, that hasn't already been done? It's settling deep into her bones, the familiar weight of despair; she'll spiral soon, as she always does, when she stands just a little too close to the edge.

"My apologies Steve," Abraham declares, on his feet now, bottle tucked under his arm, "Miss Stark and I must return to our quarters, there is much to be done before tomorrow."

"Oh. Of course." Steve responds softly.

There's something like disappointment in his tone, and she looks up at Abraham, blurting; "I think I'll stay."

Abraham fixes her with a stare that seems to stare right through her. She feels exposed, as though he's examining her very soul and judging her worthiness – Tony wishes she hadn't met his eyes.

"I mean," She swallows, setting her glass down. "If you don't need me right away Sir?"

"No." Abraham replies, and Tony deflates. "I don't need you right away." He smiles, a little warmly, a little sadly – he's caught in a memory, Tony realises, and wonders what he's remembering. "Goodnight Steve." He settles a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Not too long."

Tony leans into his hand ever so slightly. "Not too long." She agrees.

The door shuts heavily behind him, and they fall into silence. She licks her lips; she can still taste the schnapps that lingers there – it settles her. The silence is comfortable, but she's nervous… why had she stayed?

"Ma'am? If uh, you don't mind me asking," Steve begins hesitantly, "how did a dame like yourself get involved in this?"

Tony snorts, leaning back on the mattress. "God Rogers, stop calling me ' _Ma'am'_ would you? Also, 'dame'? Really?" She asks, staring up at the ceiling.

"Sorry Ma'am." He says automatically, and Tony dips her head to the side – he wilts under her stare. "Uh, Stark?"

"That'll work." She grins. "Tony's fine too." Tony murmurs, and turns her head in a poor attempt to hide her blush. She feels like she's fourteen again, with an inappropriate crush on the hot T.A in her electrical engineering lectures. "To answer your question? Abraham."

"Doctor Erskine?"

"Do you know any other Abraham's?" She asks dryly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. She can't tell him the truth, but at the same time… she doesn't want to lie to him... she's not certain she can. "And… my Father."

"He was a soldier?"

Unconsciously, Tony drums two fingers on the Arc Reactor. "Of sorts." She answers after a time. "He died when I was young."

"Mine too." Steve replies, laying back on the bunk himself. "In the Great War. Mum went not long after."

"Abraham saw," _proof, confirmation, "_ something in me I guess, and brought me into the S.S.R as his assistant." She lulls her head to the side, a wry grin twisting her lips. " _That's_ how a _dame_ like myself, got involved in this."

Steve smiles at the jab, shifting the arm under his head to get more comfortable. He turns his head and meets her eyes, his gaze solemn. "How do you think this is going to go tomorrow? Honestly?"

Tony exhales; this time tomorrow, he'll be Captain America. She tries for levity. "I imagine we'll dim all the lights in Brooklyn."

"I don't understand." He tells her softly.

"Yeah," Tony replies, sitting upright. "I know. It'll work Rogers. You'll be a whole new man, come tomorrow."

"A whole new man." He murmurs – she offers him a weak smile. _Good, becomes great_ , she reminds herself. His lungs will no longer fail him, his heartbeat will stop skipping, he'll become everything he physically could have been… America's hero. Steve grins boyishly. "I think I'd just settle being a few inches taller."

Tony looks down at him – he's more relaxed than she's ever seen him. He's not too much shorter than her, she realises, a few inches at most, just enough that when they're standing, he'd have to tilt his head back ever so slightly to meet her eyes. "I should… go." She murmurs, brushing a wrinkle out of her skirt and standing.

"Oh." Steve says as he scrambles to his feet. "Of course. Doctor Erskine will be needing you."

Tony nods jerkily. "Yeah… yes. He will." She swallows; _God,_ can he just stop looking at her? "Does. He does need me."

"Can I… can I walk you out?"

She blinks, confused for a moment before the courtesies of this time register in her mind. "Oh, yeah, of course." He holds out his arm and she hesitates. "Sure." She whispers finally, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm.

His smile is like the sun, warm and bright and she fears if she looks at him for a moment too long, she'll turn to ash. The night is cool, and Tony ducks her head, grateful for the darkness hiding her flushed cheeks – she feels like an idiot, _who blushes because of a smile?_ She was notorious for following in her Father's footsteps, for vacating one bed only to find her way into another, she's no blushing virgin and yet... _when he smiles_ , she thinks she would give anything, to have him smile at her, just one more time.

 _Idiot,_ she thinks scathingly. It's some kind of cosmic joke, to be stuck in the _nineteen forties_ , on the arm of a man she'd spent decades blaming for the coldness of her Father, only to find, instead of hatred as she expected, he makes her feel... warm.

Steve stops outside the double doors that least to the Infirmary. "Thank you." He says suddenly. "For staying." He elaborates shyly, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

Tony's throat feels dry and she swallows – is she nervous? "Any time."

"I may just take you up on that." He smiles fully. "I should leave you… I'm sure Doctor Erskine is waiting."

"Goodnight Steve." Tony murmurs, and in the space between seconds, makes a decision. She leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek – and meets his lips. Her eyes close of their own volition and she lingers, reflexively following him as he leans away in shock, before his hands fall to her waist – and he kisses back.

Tony imagines _this_ is what it feels like, to be struck by lightning.

* * *

 **AN:** Stony begins... kind of.

Thank you, for sticking with me, I know it's taken a while for me to come back to this. Understand none of my stories are abandoned, just that some days, it's harder than others to write - I hope you all love this as much as I do.


	5. V - By a Thread

**AN:** Any recognisable dialogue belongs exclusively to the Marvel Studios and Walt Disney Studios; Marvel Cinematic Universe

* * *

 **The Road to Hell (is Paved with Good Intentions)**

Tony Stark; genius, billionaire, philanthropist. Tony, because Howard wanted a son, Natasha, because Maria birthed a daughter instead.

* * *

 **Chapter V –** _By a Thread_

* * *

Tony eyes the shopfront curiously, the gold lettering above the window glinting in the darkness.

 _Brooklyn Antiques._

It's clever in its anonymity, just another nondescript store among many along this street, but Tony imagines the affect will be lost in the daylight, with uniformed men and women coming and going through what she assumes is the only entrance.

"Well, it looks like it's closed." Tony quips, eying the dark-wood sign hanging in the window. "Should we come back tomorrow? Perhaps when it's daylight?"

Colonel Phillips fixes her with an unimpressed stare and raps thrice on the edge of the door – she half expects the pane of glass to shatter, such is the force behind his knock. An elderly woman shuffles forward, pulling a knitted shawl tight across her shoulders and opens the door a crack, a serene smile on her lips. "Wonderful weather this morning, isn't it?"

Tony raises an eyebrow – the street is still lit only by the dim light of the streetlamps, the sun itself still waiting to rise.

"Yes," The Colonel says gruffly, "but I always carry an umbrella."

The elderly woman straightens, no longer looking quite so decrepit, and steps aside, opening the door wider to allow them entrance. She moves easily toward the counter, no longer hunched or shuffling – her hand moves below the bench top. "You may go through."

Colonel Phillips nods, and brushes aside the curtains behind the counter, walking through without so much as a by-your-leave – the back of the store is the same as the front, Tony notices as she follows him through, all dark wood and dusty surfaces... _except_ for the floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with books. Tony eyes each carefully; there's nothing overtly _special_ about them, but not a single spine is cracked, nor are they discoloured or worn as she would expect a book in an antique store to be. She licks the back of her hand and crouches down, letting her hand fall level with the bottom of the shelf – sure enough, a soft breeze cools her skin. "Well," Tony murmurs, standing and brushing off her skirt, "it's no public landmark."

She hears the mechanical _click_ of a motor, and the doors swing inwards – Colonel Phillips is greeted by name and with a respectful salute from each man they pass in the long corridor, and as they reach the next set of doors, Tony notices they're reinforced with the same bulletproof military grade metal that is used to make tanks.

"Welcome Doctor, Miss Stark," Colonel Phillips smiles, as he steps onto the observation deck, "to Project Rebirth."

The room is built almost like an amphitheatre; around the outer edge is a series of power banks, connected, Tony imagines, to Brooklyn's main power grid and in the centre of the room, on a raised metal platform is a large coffin-shaped capsule that she recognises from Abraham's notes as the conductor for the Vita Radiation. Tony watches as men in lab-coats flit from station to station, conversing quietly as they confirm that everything is level and ready for Steve's arrival.

"Hey, watch it!" She growls, leaning over the railing, as one of the men bumps into the containment pod that holds the serum. "You spill a drop of that serum and I'll take it out of your ass."

The man blushes, and steadies the pod, stepping carefully around it – Tony realises belatedly she's gained the attention of the room and glances at the Colonel. "Sorry." She murmurs.

Colonel Phillips raises a bushy eyebrow – Tony thinks he's almost _impressed._ "By all means, Miss Stark."

Abraham offers her a proud smile, and gestures her forward to check the status of the containment pod at the bottom of the staircase – it takes an eight-digit numerical code to unlock; _two, three, zero, four, one, eight, nine, eight._ Tony imagines the significance of April twenty-third, eighteen ninety-eight is now known only to Abraham and vaguely recalls that the elderly Doctor was married before Johann Schmidt had knocked upon his door. The pod opens with a soft _hiss_ and Tony stares somewhat dumbly; a life's work, measured in less than a litre of electric blue liquid. Seven spaces of twelve are filled and she glances at Abraham – four vials, she knows, were used throughout the initial testing process, so where, she wonders, is vial eight?

"You know, of course," Abraham begins quietly as he closes the pod, "that _five_ vials were used during testing."

"I–"

"Doctor Erskine!"

Tony's stomach swoops, and she feels like she's freefalling in a suit covered in ice – that _voice_... she _knows_ that voice.

"Ah," Abraham places a steadying hand on her arm as they turn, even as he holds out his right to greet the young man strolling toward them. "Mister Stark! It is good to see you again."

"And you as well Doc–" His grin falters, and Tony is surprised at just how much of her smile, is his. "Who are you?"

The question is blunt, almost accusing, and Tony recalls the last time she heard that particular tone – right before the car accident that rendered her an orphan at sixteen. She swallows through the lump in her throat. "Antoinette... Stark."

" _Stark_?" Howard questions carefully – and Tony thinks he sounds almost afraid. _He's an orphan_ , she recalls suddenly, her grandparents having died sometime during the first world war. "I, I thought I was the last – you look just like me, who–"

"Walter–"

"My uncle?" He's breathless, _shocked_ in a way she can't remember her unflappable Father to ever be. She knows, better than anyone, what it's like to be alone in the world... she just hadn't considered, that at one point, her Father knew it too. It throws her for a loop – she can't reconcile it, how could a man so desperate for _someone,_ become as cold and as distant as her Father? "We're cousins? I have a cousin." It's a baffled kind of laughter that bubbles from his lips, a carefree, breathless sound she can't correlate with the Father she remembers. "I have _family_."

Abraham clears his throat, and Howard shakes himself. "Right, Project Rebirth, levels, I should…" He gestures over his shoulder aimlessly, "get back to that. Can we… talk later? I would like to know you, _Antoinette_. If you'll have me."

 _No_ , she thinks, _I won't,_ but he doesn't wait for an answer, and Tony looks toward Abraham desperately – she hadn't considered Howard. What had Fury said? _He was a founding member of S.H.I.E.L.D_ … _oh_ , Tony thinks dumbly, _I'm an idiot_. It shouldn't have taken her this long, to realise that the Strategic Science Reserve, is a precursor to S.H.I.E.L.D. "I, I haven't… I haven't seen him since I was sixteen. There's so much I should have _said_ , so much I _wish_ I hadn't… and I can't tell _him_ any of it, because he's not my Father."

"No, he's not your Father." Abraham concedes lightly, a soft expression on his face. "But perhaps he could be something else."

Tony blinks back tears – she feels like she's sixteen again, home for Christmas, only for her parents to be half-way out the door. She can almost hear the piano, her mother's sweet voice accompanying each note, and touches her hair, searching for the Santa hat that isn't there. She sucks in a shuddering breath – this is not nineteen ninety-one, and this Howard, is not her Father. "We should get ready… for Steve."

Abraham searches her eyes and seems unsatisfied with what he finds – he frowns. Tony manages a smile she hopes is reassuring, and Abraham hesitates, before checking his watch. "Margaret is escorting him; they'll be here not long after sunrise."

"Pain relief?" She asks, glad for the distraction as she looks over their options at the small medical station beside the cradle.

"Penicillin only, anything else will react with the serum."

"Yes Sir." Tony answers, inspecting the bottles on the top of the station; opioids she's reasonably sure should be banned by now, a vial of morphine, another of penicillin and a clear liquid she thinks is a derivative of _cocaine_ of all things. She tucks the unnecessary bottles into the metal draw, and using a syringe, measures out the required dosage of penicillin – not, that she thinks it will be much help, this process will be _agony_.

She sets the syringe down and looks to Abraham; each tap of his foot sounds like the beat of a drum, and Tony nudges him lightly, pulling his attention from the table laden with notes and diagrams. "It's done." She says gently, "It's a little _late_ , don't you think, to start changing things now."

"It's never too late." Abraham meets her eyes, half a wistful smile on his lips. "Tell me again."

" _This, works._ " Tony affirms strongly, and he nods, not quite reassured as a hush falls over the room – Abraham's eyes fix on a point above her shoulder and she turns, joining the rest in staring up at the figures on the observation deck.

His dress uniform is too large, the belt holding up pants that are rolled at the cuff is looped around his waist once and then half again and his shirt is _just_ on the wrong side of too large. Tony ducks her head before he can meet her gaze, turning back and fussing needlessly with Abraham's notes.

"Good morning." Abraham greets, and Tony blinks, momentarily blinded by the flash of a camera. "Please, not now. Are you ready? Good. Take off your shirt, your tie and your hat."

Tony takes a breath, and steps forward as Steve glances around nervously. "Here." She holds out a hand. With great care, Steve places the folded hat in her palm, his cheeks flame red snatching his hand back like he's been burned when their fingertips brush against each other and fumbles awkwardly with his tie. Tony loses patience quickly. "Fucking hell Rogers." She growls, pushing his hands away– and makes the mistake of meeting his eyes. It's too much, too _intimate_ , too much _like being struck by lightning_ – Tony sucks in a shuddering breath and pulls his tie free of his collar.

She wants to say something smart as she steps away, something that will make it _less_ , the _unspoken_ _thing_ that is brewing between them, but the words die in her throat – she avoids Peggy's questioning gaze and places the hat and tie, neatly upon a nearby table. The buttons on his shirt come easier to him than his tie, and he shrugs out of it quickly, climbing into the cradle with difficulty.

"Comfortable?" Abraham asks, when Steve has settled.

"It's a little big." He quips, "You save me any of that schnapps?"

Abraham grimaces, and Tony recalls the empty bottle on the sink in the Infirmary. "Not as much as I should have. Sorry… next time." He pats Steve's shoulder. "Mister Stark, how are your levels?"

Howard offers her a smile as he approaches and Tony feels hollow – _he's not my Father_ , she reminds herself. "Levels at one hundred percent."

"Good."

"We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn, but we are ready as we'll ever be."

Steve eyes Tony sharply and she busies herself with the penicillin, confirming she had in fact measured out the correct dosage. _We may dim all the lights in Brooklyn,_ she'd said like an _idiot_ – she should have _known_ her Father's tried and true remark before any phase of testing would have originated here.

"Agent Carter? Don't you think you would be more comfortable in the booth?" Abraham asks, when Peggy lingers at the side of the cradle.

"Oh, yes." Peggy grimaces, and Tony feels her squeeze her hand. _This will work._ She reminds herself. "Of course. Sorry."

"Good." Abraham opens the pod and technician appears with a microphone and Tony knows – it's time. "Do you hear me?" He flicks the microphone, and Tony winces as the feedback rings sharply. "Is this on? Ladies and gentlemen, today we take not another step towards annihilation, but the first step on the path to peace." It's grandstanding of the highest order, yet Tony finds it oddly comforting as she loads three vials of serum into the capsule on either side of Steve's hips – it reminds her of the time before Iron Woman, when she was a War Dog first, and a woman second. "We begin with a series of micro injections into the subjects major muscle groups. The serum infusion will cause immediate cellular change. And then to stimulate growth, the subject will be saturated with Vita-Rays."

At Abraham's nod, Tony locks the plates that will inject the serum into Steve's chest into place and administers the penicillin – her fingertips linger and his head lulls toward her.

"That wasn't so bad."

"That was penicillin." Abraham informs him, patting his shoulder lightly. "Serum infusion beginning in five, four, three, two… one – now, Mr. Stark." Steve grimaces and the capsule moves upright, closing around him. Tony glances at Abraham as the final pieces of the capsule are locked into place.

"We can't see him." She murmurs.

"No." Abraham replies, knocking on the capsule. "Steven, can you hear me?"

"It's probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?"

Abraham steadies himself, and nods at Howard. "We will proceed."

"That's ten percent." Howard calls, slowly turning the dial controlling the Vita Radiation – the light coming from the capsule is almost blinding, and it only becomes more so as the level of radiation rises. "Twenty percent. Thirty – that's forty percent…"

"Vital signs are normal." The S.S.R Doctor calls from beside Howard.

"That's fifty percent… sixty... seventy…"

Steve _screams_.

Tony stumbles forward, hand over her mouth. " _This works_." She whispers, " _this works_."

"Steven!" Abraham calls, darting toward the capsule. "Steven!"

"Shut it down!" Peggy shouts from the galley.

Abraham bangs on the capsule and gets no response but further screams. "Steven!"

"Shut it down!"

"Kill the reactor, Mr. Stark!"

Tony attempts to catch his arm. "Abraham, you can't!"

"Turn it off! Kill it! Kill the reactor!"

"No!" Steve shouts, "Don't! I can do this!"

Howard moves, and Tony reaches Abraham. "This works." She reminds him firmly, but he's shaken, _she's shaken_ – Steve's pain _more_ than either had expected.

"Eighty… ninety… that's one hundred percent!"

The light coming from the capsule is blinding, and Tony shields her eyes – lights explode around them, the console Howard controls overloads and Steve's screams… stop.

The light fades.

"Mister Stark!"

The capsule opens with a rush of air, and Tony's feet are moving before her mind can process the sight she sees. He's slick with sweat and breathing heavily when she reaches him, Abraham only seconds behind. "Steve?"

"Steven?" Abraham asks lowly, directing her wordlessly to take his arm. "Steven."

Steve leans heavily on them as he stumbles out of the cradle and Tony falters beneath his weight – he's taller, broader, _heavier_ , no longer will a strong breeze knock him off his feet and Tony doesn't know how to feel. Howard tucks himself under Steve's arm, gently moving Tony out of his path to take the weight.

"I did it." Steve murmurs, breathless.

"Yeah, yeah." Abraham grins, "I think we did it."

"We actually did it." Howard grins, bracing Steve with a hand on his abdomen.

Tony feels a hand on her elbow – she hadn't realised she'd started to sway. Peggy steadies her wordlessly, her expression grim. "I'm fine." Tony tells her softly. "I'm okay Au–Peggy."

Peggy's not convinced but looks to Steve, nonetheless. "How do you feel?"

"Taller." Steve deadpans, glancing over their heads.

Tony grimaces. "You look taller." She retorts, handing him a tee-shirt.

"Thank you… _Tony_." His cheeks turn pink as their fingertips touch, but he doesn't snatch his hand away – it's the first time her name has come from his lips and Tony finds, there's nothing she wants less from this version of him. She steps backwards; it's too much. This is CaptainAmerica… not Steve. Sweet, kind, skinny _Steve_ , whose kisses make her feel like she's been struck by lightning – is gone and the man she's spent decades hating, now stands in his place.

"Congratulations Doctor!"

Abraham accepts the handshake. "Thank you, Sir."

"Senator Brandt I assume?" Tony asks, hovering at Abraham's other side – out of Steve's reach. "He'll be funding the rest?"

"Ind–"

Glass rains, people scream, and Tony finds herself crouched on the floor with Steve above her, a human shield against the shards showering on them. "Are you okay?" He sounds so far away, the ringing in her ears is too loud and her head pounds.

Abraham shouts; "Stop him!" and a gun is fired.

It's like she's moving in slow motion – Abraham falls, and she wrenches out of Steve's grip, diving toward the elderly doctor who has been so unerringly _kind_. "No! No, no, no, no, no, not now." Tony babbles as she reaches his side, her hands covering the bullet holes in his chest. "Not now, not here." She'd known – _known_ he was going to die, but she hadn't – hadn't thought, hadn't known it would be here. "Abraham, Abraham look at me. You're going to be okay."

Weakly, he grasps the back of her neck, and tugs her closer, until his mouth is at her ear. "It's… _enough_." Abraham gasps wetly, and Tony sobs.

"Not like this." She tells him fiercely, "I don't want it. _Not like this_."

" _Natasha…_ "

"No, _no._ " Tony shakes her head, as Steve drops to his knees on Abraham's other side. Abraham weakly touches his fingertip to Steve's heart and smiles, his eyes fluttering shut. His grip on her neck slackens, and his hand falls, cold and limp to the floor – Tony collapses in on herself, the world around her suddenly moving all too quick as she stares at the blood staining her palms.

* * *

" _I'm not ready."_

" _No one ever is. We don't get to choose our time… death is what gives life meaning. To know your days are numbered... that your time is short. You'd think after all this time, I'd be ready… but look at me. Stretching one moment out into a thousand... just so that I can watch the snow."_

* * *

It's Peggy, who washes the blood from her hands.

Peggy, who picks her up off the grating beside the capsule and leads her down the brightly lit corridors to the infirmary, standing her beneath the heady spray of the shower used to disinfect patients.

Tony watches until the water runs clear. Her palms now are bloodless, but she still feels dirty, _unclean_ – how many people's blood did she have on her hands now? How many innocent lives lost when Obadiah dealt on both sides of the table because she was too busy at the bottom of a bottle, how many people had she failed to save as Iron Woman because she was _too late – God,_ how hadn't she _known?_

"I didn't know." She tells her, as Peggy helps her out of her now dripping Nurse's uniform. How many people were dead... because she didn't know? "I knew he – I didn't realise it was here."

Peggy sighs, tucking a wet strand of hair behind Tony's ear. It's a comfort she remembers from her childhood, when her Auntie would kneel at her level, and explain why the world was as it was. "He… suspected." She states finally and wraps a towel around Tony's shoulders "Little things you said led him to believe that Steve would be it, his last and very best chance at redemption."

"Redemption." Tony scoffs, tightening her grip on the towel. She scrubs at her eyes, ashamed to realise tears are forming there. "What redemption did he need to seek? He was a _good_ man, forced to do terrible things by a monster. It wasn't his choice."

"Oh, sweet girl." Peggy murmurs, and Tony feels like a child speaking to her Auntie and not a woman speaking to another who could be her friend. "It's not rational. Abraham was as you said, a good man… but that did not erase for him the guilt that came with Johann Schmidt stealing the Serum." Peggy brushes her fingertips across the Arc Reactor, and Tony fights to not recoil, remembering the horrified expression on her face the first time she'd seen it. "Just as, I suspect, _this_ , didn't erase that your weapons were being sold on both sides of the table."

"How did you–"

"You were attacked, and a weapon of your design almost killed you – it's not a large leap." Peggy answers, handing Tony a fresh S.S.R uniform – she puts the shirt on first, covering the raised black veins that are inching further across her chest.

"I…" Tony pauses. "Stark Industries had been creating and designing weapons for over fifty years and I just… shut it down. It was the first thing I did, when Rhodey brought me home." She swallows, and shimmies into the brown skirt. "Post-traumatic stress they called it. Said I wasn't thinking straight and that I would cost thousands of my employees their jobs, their homes, everything, all because I _couldn't hack it_. I didn't lose a single one." Tony tells Peggy defiantly. "I tanked the value of my company in one sentence and while every single member of my boardroom was screaming abandon ship, I created a _hero_ – we're worth more now than we ever were when we sold weapons."

Tony loops the tie around her neck – it wasn't rational, when she dealt the Ten Rings the justice they deserved, it wasn't rational when she kept using the suit, even after she knew it was killing her to do so. "Maybe you're right, and redemption isn't rational – but Abraham deserved to see a world at peace."

The infirmary door bangs open and Tony turns – Steve stands in the doorway, hand on his side, with Colonel Phillips at his back, directing a disapproving stare at the puddle growing at Steve's feet.

"Why are you wet?" Tony blurts, eyes drawn straight to his abdomen, where the thin white shirt sticks to his skin.

"I had to catch a submarine." Steve grimaces, and Tony notices the blood staining his shirt. "And you?"

Involuntarily, she checks her hands – and when she looks up, she notices the regret etched across his pretty features.

"Agent Carter, with me." Colonel Phillips commands, turning on his heel without another word. "Stark, I want at least six vials of blood from Rogers."

"Yes Sir." Peggy replies, squeezing Tony's arm as she passes.

"Yes Sir." Tony murmurs, before directing her attention to Steve. "Sit." Tony points to the nearest cot, and Steve does as he's told, sitting gingerly on the edge. It's different to the last time Tony thinks as she steps between his legs – Abraham doesn't hover at her shoulder, and Steve no longer has to crane his head back to look up at her. "Arms up." He winces as he raises his left arm, and Tony hooks her fingers under the wet shirt, pulling it up and over his head – there's a storm in his eyes, and Tony almost can't remember how to breathe. What would it be like, she wonders, if the circumstances were different, and he was undressing her too?

"I thought I told you not to gain any more injuries." Tony murmurs, ducking her head to examine the wound on his side – the bullet grazed a small chunk out of his skin, but his blood has already begun to congeal at the edges, the healing process swift with the serum running through his veins. She reaches for a bottle of betadine, uncapping it and soaking a piece of gauze before leaning down to clean the wound.

"Bruises." He corrects softly, watching her work. "You told me not to gain any more bruises… this is from a bullet."

"I'd like to think my point stands." She says, rolling her eyes and taping a fresh piece of gauze to his side to soak up any further bleeding. "He wouldn't want you to get yourself killed."

"Hey." Steve catches her arm as she turns, pulling Tony back to him – how easy would it be, to press a kiss to his lips, to straddle his lap and _feel_ something other than this? "I'm sorry, I know he meant a lot to you… he deserved better than this."

Sick, Tony slips from his grasp, and tries to ignore the ways his fingertips leave a turning trail down her arm – God how she _wants_ to hate him. "I need to take your blood."

The vein is easy to find, and the vials fill quickly. "Think you got enough?"

 _It's enough._ Tony swallows. "What happened to the other vial? The one…"

Steve's expression clouds. "He dropped it after I pulled him out of the river."

Four for testing, six for Steve, one broken on the cobblestones, and one… for her? "Any chance of resurrecting the program lies in your blood, they'll need it to attempt to reverse-engineer the serum."

"Are you–"

"No." Tony snaps, "I want nothing to do with this."

"Why?" Steve asks, and she's taken aback by the _lack_ of judgement in his tone.

Tony clenches the vials of his blood in her shaking hands. "I won't unleash more men like Johann Schmidt into the world." She takes a breath and deposits the vials safely into a nearby rack. "If the S.S.R wants another weapon, they can find someone else to make him."

"What about men like me?"

She hadn't heard him move and she spins around – he's got a good three inches on her now, a marked changed from the five she had on him before he'd been injected with the serum. Captain America or Steve Rogers? Tony realises as she stares up at him that she can't tell the difference. She traces his cheekbone and he leans into her hand, his own coming up to wrap around her wrist – _he's touch starved_ , she realises, her thumb drawing circles on his skin… she thinks perhaps she is too. "There are no men like you."

* * *

" _For two years, we've stolen these moments, trying to see if this could work. And... I don't know. You know what, I'm just gonna speak for myself. I, I... I think..."_

" _It works."_

" _It works... then stay... stay with me."_

* * *

"His apartment will be put back into rotation among the S.S.R. Agents based here." Peggy answers Tony's unasked question as she lingers at Abraham's apartment door – his building, Tony had found, when she enlisted Peggy's help in escaping from the secret installation beneath Brooklyn Antiques, also housed a number of S.S.R Agents. "I suspect we'll have new orders tomorrow, ones that won't require apartments in New York."

Tony nods absently – it doesn't feel right, being here without Abraham.

"Do you want me to come in?"

She glances at the hand on her arm first, and then meets Peggy's worries eyes. "No... no, I'll be fine."

"Tony..."

"I'll be fine. What's one night?"

Peggy nods, and Tony drops her bag just inside the threshold, shutting the door behind her – the apartment is lit only by the light of the streetlamps outside the black rimmed windows, casting shadows across every surface as though the night itself is in mourning. She tears the apartment apart – every nook, every cranny, beneath the cushions on the couch and behind the few photographs hung on the walls, in each draw and cupboard, until she sinks to her knees in front of the fireplace, hoping, praying, that it'll be in the last place she looks. Tony reaches up into the chimney stack – and pulls her hand back when she grasps it, the small rectangular box that's almost out of reach.

Her vertigo shifts as she sits back against the couch, clutching the box in her hand as though it's a bomb that's sure to explode – she opens the lid, and sobs. Resting, in a silk-lined bed, is the missing eighth vial of Abraham's serum. Her fingers ghost over the glass reverently, covering her mouth with her free hand, when she finds the tag looped around the cap that reads; _Natasha Stark_ , in Abraham's messy scrawl.

What right does she have to this, she wonders suddenly – _it's enough_ he'd told her, but what if it wasn't? What if _she_ isn't enough, what if she becomes somehow... _less?_ Tony strikes the thought from her mind – she knows the risks, the complications and the mantra; _good becomes great_ , she reminds herself and refuses to think of the rest.

She sets the vial back in the box, and stands, fetching her bag from the door and upends it beside the hearth, pages and pages of Abraham's notes spilling onto the floor. It's all she could get her hands on, the notes he'd had spread on the table beside the capsule, and the few he'd gifted her at Camp Lehigh – Abraham's legacy will be Steve, _America's Hero_ , not a production line of unworthy soldiers. Steve's blood is more than the Strategic Science Reserve deserves; the imperfect recreations to follow will be done off their own backs, _not_ with the aid of Abraham's notes. Page after page goes into the hearth and as she ransacks the apartment, she finds more, adding them to the pile before she lights a match and watches it all go up in flames.

Against the couch Tony wraps a belt around her upper arm, tightening it into a makeshift tourniquet before reaching for the vial and inserting it into the large metal syringe she'd stolen from the infirmary. She tucks the end of the belt between her teeth and clenches her fist, raising the veins in her arm – the needle pierces her skin neatly and she sucks in a steadying breath, depressing the plunger until there's not a drop of serum remaining.

It's a high unlike anything she's felt in her life, effervescent and unconstrained until something _flips_ and it burns, quick and fast and brutal until she's screaming her throat _bloody_ and there's banging on the door and hands on either side of her head – it's daylight when she wakes, the fire burning low in the hearth and sunlight streaming through the windows.

Tony blinks languidly, her eyes adjusting slowly to the light as she sits upright, watching dust motes dance in the sunbeams. She feels almost... _light._ Like she's been holding the sky on her back and now someone else has taken the weight – she rubs her chest, her fingers slipping absently between the gap of her shirt before it hits and she rips at the buttons. The high-tech crossword puzzle that criss-crossed her chest in angry black lines has disappeared,for the first time since _Natasha Romanoff_ injected her with the Lithium Dioxide solution – she fumbles for the Stark Medical Scanner and presses her thumb to the pad. The lettering on the tiny LCD screen blinks green, and Tony is glad she's on her knees, for the reading that pops up would have sent her to them anyway.

 _BLOOD TOXCICITY 0%_

It's crushing relief and something hysterical that makes her feel faint – she's _free_. She twists the Arc Reactor in her chest, holding her breath as she lifts the centre core – the palladium is corroded, the neutron damage irreversible, but it's _enough_ to keep the electromagnet ticking over and the shrapnel from piercing her heart any further. She locks the Arc Reactor back into place – where she'll find palladium in the nineteen-forties she's unsure, but she'll need it sooner, rather than later.

She sits back on her heels and blinks. Lying half on the couch, with her knees tucked beneath her and her head resting on her arms is – "Peggy?"

"Peg?" She questions, shaking her shoulder lightly. "Peggy? Hey, wake up."

Peggy's eyes snap open and she's folding her into a hug so tight, Tony loses her breath. "What were you thinking? You could have died, Tony!"

Tony sighs, and loosens her grip. "I _was_ dying Peggy." She murmurs, the giddy high she's riding on dissipating beneath Peggy's unrestrained fear.

"You're an idiot. A bloody _fool_." Peggy pulls from the hug, to cup her cheeks. "I wouldn't have stopped you. You didn't have to do _this,_ " She gestures wildly at the hearth, "alone."

"No?" It's a bitter sound that falls from her lips and she scrubs a hand over her jaw. "I've been going it alone since I was sixteen… it's a hard habit to break."

"You don't…" She sighs, shaking her head. "Let me in Tony. _I will be your family_ … if you let me."

Tony smothers a sob with her hand – she hears everything that Peggy hasn't said; let me love you, let me care, let me _be there_ for you... let me leave you, just like all the rest. It echoes around her head and she wonders... when will it end? How many people has she already lost in her life? How many years had she spent at the bottom of a bottle, or in a stranger's bed, rather than grieve for Carol, or for her Parents? Had she grieved, for Obadiah, who she has love for, for the years he actedas a surrogate father, _despite_ , everything he'd done and what he'd put her through? She hadn't grieved for the ones she'd left behind – not for Pepper, or Happy, or J.A.R.V.I.S or the bots she'd built and loved as _family_ despite U and Dum-E never being able to speak a word. She hadn't grieved for Rhodey, who'd loved and protected her every _single_ day since she'd found him, passed out beneath a desk in the library at M.I.T and completed his essay, submitting it with time to spare – and Abraham… perhaps she'd cried tears for him, but _grieved?_ She can't imagine being able to put herself back together if she did. "I can't lose anyone else."

Peggy reaches for her hands. "I wish I could promise you that no more lives will be lost, but Tony, you _know_ … that is a promise I cannot keep." She squeezes their joined hands. "So, I will promise you this. You will never be alone, so long as I am with you. You and me kiddo. You and me."

Tony leans over their hands in an attempt to hide the tears on her cheeks – how often had Peggy promised her the same throughout her childhood, how often, had Peggy chased away the loneliness and given her endless love and affection, never wanting anything in return. How often, had she as a child, wished that Peggy was _her mother_ , rather than Godmother? "You and me."

* * *

" _I seem to have a habit of losing people closest to me. Perhaps_ 'losing' _is too nice a word. I get them killed"_

* * *

"Colonel Phillips, my committee is demanding answers!"

Tony eyes the suspended submarine curiously – it's a variation of the midget submarines the Wehrmacht created in the second world war that she's not seen before, designed for stealth, she imagines as she eyes the matte-black metal. _I had to catch a submarine;_ Steve told her in the infirmary – Tony realises as she eyes the shattered window, just how _literal_ his statement had been.

"Great. Why don't we start with how a German spy got a ride to my secret installation in your car?" Colonel Phillips snarks.

She ducks beneath the submarine, offering Howard an awkward smile as she examines the inside of the craft – single seat cockpit, designed to be piloted by one person and oddly, it reminds her of the formula one car she drove in Monaco. "This is insane," she murmurs, "this technology is at _least_ a decade ahead of its time."

"You're telling me." Howard grimaces. "I don't understand _half_ of this, and I'm brilliant." He shakes his head. "It's like they've cannibalised a Focke-Wulf and a midget sub, cherry picking the best elements from both, but even then, it's..." He eyes her curiously. "It's as you said. I thought you were a Nurse?"

"What have we got here?" Colonel Phillips interrupts, and Tony uses Howard's distraction to climb out of the sunken pit, accepting the Colonel's offered hand.

Howard shrugs, "Speaking modestly, I'm the best mechanical engineer in this country." _Second best_ , Tony corrects silently. "But I don't know what's inside this thing _or_ how it works. We're not even close to this technology."

Senator Brandt scoffs. "Then who is?"

Colonel Phillips raises a brushy brow. "HYDRA. I'm sure you've been reading our briefings."

"I'm on a number of committees, Colonel." Senator Brandt scowls.

"HYDRA is the Nazi deep science division." Peggy supplies, leading Steve into the room. His dress uniform fits now, Tony notices, unable to stop her eyes following the cut of his shirt across his now broad shoulders. "It's led by Johann Schmidt. But he has much bigger ambitions."

Colonel Phillips continues; "HYDRA's practically a cult. They worship Schmidt, they think he's invincible."

"So, what are you gonna do about it?" Brandt asks, and Tony is reminded uncomfortably of the Senators in her own time – _we_ , they would say, but would remain safe in their ivory towers, whilst the people they view as _lesser_ , put their lives on the line.

"Spoke to the president this morning." Colonel Phillips answers, turning away from the Senator and toward Peggy. "As of today, the SSR is being re-tasked."

"Colonel?"

Colonel Phillips smiles grimly. "We are taking the fight to HYDRA. Pack your bags Agent Carter." He looks to Howard. "You too, Stark. You're flying to London tonight."

"Sir," Steve calls, as the Colonel makes to leave, "if you're going after Schmidt, I want in."

Colonel Phillips scowls. "You're an experiment. You're going to Alamogordo."

"The serum worked!"

"I asked for an army and all I got was you." He shakes his head. "You are not enough. Miss Stark," Tony straightens involuntarily, "You're being reassigned."

"Reassigned?" She blurts, following the Colonel. "Sir–"

"Walk with me Miss Stark." He commands, and Tony hastens to fall into step beside him, risking a quick glance over her shoulder – history proves that Steve Rogers will make his way to the Front, but there's something in her that aches to reassure him... and she wonders why the thought of doing so, doesn't sting as bitterly as she thinks it should. "I'll be honest with you Stark; I did not want you on my base. Pretty little thing like you? You're a distraction, a distraction neither my men nor Abraham Erskine needed."

Tony baulks – sexism isn't uncommon, not in her time and certainly not in this one, but it cuts deeper here, the same kind of accusation that would have had her laughing had she been where she belongs. "Sir–"

"Imagine my surprise," He continues, ignoring her interruption, "when I find you have a brain to match that impetuous mouth of yours. You're quick, clever, _adaptable,_ you've been reassigned, Miss Stark, to me _."_

She blinks. "What?"

"You've no desire to recreate Abraham's Serum, despite acting as his assistant this past month. I imagine you've already destroyed the notes you pilfered yesterday?"

Tony's blood chills. "I–"

"We have copies." The Colonel states plainly and doesn't that just _burn._ "Abraham, God rest his soul, may have trusted you with the secrets of Project Rebirth but understand this Miss Stark, if I had _my_ way, you would not be here. You are trouble, plain and simple. You continue to remain in my presence, only because I cannot be assured that should I attempt to shunt you off to some laboratory, you wouldn't actively work against us. You will come to the front, and you will serve as my assistant, and if you _piss me off_ , well... I'll throw you in prison for espionage, and there you will stay, and there you will rot, until the end of your days. Are we clear?"

Tony raises her chin, defiant, even as she smiles sweetly. "Crystal, Sir."

"Good. Pack your bags Miss Stark. Welcome to the S.S.R."

* * *

 **AN:** Hanging by a thread no longer – though, where she'll find palladium is anyone's guess.

Thank you for sticking with me, these fics mean everything to me, my own little section of the fandom I've carved out just for me, and for all of you too. Thank you, for every follow, favourite and review.


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